Living to Learn, Learning to Live

Getting and Staying Linked In

2011-06-21T16:31:00.002-04:00

Unless you've been living under a rock for the past 3 or 4 years, you have probably at the least created a LinkedIn profile, and at most used it to connect to networking contacts. Or perhaps you've chosen to avoid all those emails requesting connections with you and are feeling satisfied with your digital footprint without adding one more social media account to your repertoire.

As a career services professional, whether I'm searching for a new job or not, I use LinkedIn every single day. I use it for personal reasons, to assist students, to learn about companies, the list goes on and on. Inevitably, LinkedIn naysayers will tell me that "normal" people don't need to use LinkedIn regularly. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Now, I'm going to assume that you've already used or at least attempted to use LinkedIn for a career-related venture- job or company searching, networking, or adding your resume information to your profile. So what's a student affairs professional (or other professional, for that matter) to do with LinkedIn while employed and not searching? Here are 5 meaningful ways you can keep engaging on LinkedIn long after your job search is over:

Be a voice in your profession: One of the best features of LinkedIn are the groups. There are literally millions of groups to join, and for higher ed professionals, you can find very broad (think ACPA and NASPA) to very specific (Big Ten Career Services Network) groups to join. Join groups that matter to you and that play to your strengths, then use their discussion boards to be a voice for the profession. Post topics for discussion related to current events in your functional area, and facilitate dialogue with group members. Offer expertise or detail the success you've had executing a new program. Share and listen. Think of all the great things you've learned from student affairs colleagues through #sachat. LinkedIn groups provide another medium for you to be a vocal leader in your profession and create new professional contacts to carry throughout your career.

Maintain relationships: The vast majority of people hate networking. Why? Because no one likes to put other people on the spot when conducting the job search, especially friends and colleagues. But networking doesn't have to be that way. Networking sucks because people do not maintain the relationships in their network. The best way to avoid the awkward nature of networking when in the job search is to assure that you nurture and grow contacts outside of it. Use LinkedIn to stay connected to former supervisors, professors, students you've mentored. LinkedIn will notify you in your newsfeed when your contacts change jobs, enter new education information, or post tweets and discussion topics. As quickly and as easily as sending a tweet to a professional, or "like"ing what they post on Facebook, you can comment on your professional contact's LinkedIn updates, or send them InMail to congratulate them on their new position. Simple actions like this help you remain a familiar name in your colleagues' seas of contacts, so when you do need to ask for help or a recommendation, it doesn't feel so out of the blue to either party.

Mentor current and former students: My personal preference when students want to connect to me on social media is to direct them to LinkedIn. Under Contacts, I create tags like "MSU students" or "William and Mary Career Ambassadors," to organize students I've known and worked with into meaningful categories. As they graduate, I encourage them to keep in touch with me via LinkedIn and email. Once they connect with me, I can work on the previous point but also give them access to my professional network. If they are looking for jobs or graduate schools, I can introduce them through LinkedIn to my connections who can be sources of informational interviews or advice in their field or at a particular organization. In turn, students become professional contacts as well that I can introduce to future undergrads with whom I work.

A touch of control over Google: If you Google Ashleigh Heck, the very first entry you'll find is my public LinkedIn profile. If people want to find me, they'll first find my carefully edited professional information. 'Nuff said.

Just because you're not searching now... Things change in an instant. Your partner may find a job in a new state, your interests change, your department may restructure. The job search can catch us off guard. Just as it's good practice to keep your resume up to date as you add new responsibilities and roles to your professional experience, staying engaged and up to date on LinkedIn assures that you are ready whenever the job search kicks into gear.

Staying up to date and involved means new opportunities can find you. There's a box on the right side of your LinkedIn homepage that says "Who's Viewed Your Profile." Click on it. It's great validation of the fact that even when you're not searching, if you're a LinkedIn user, others are getting YOU in their search results. The term "Twitter Zombie" is translatable here. Don't have a dead profile- you never know who's looking at it!

For more information about getting started and maximizing your LinkedIn use, visit the LinkedIn Learning Center. Leave questions and comments too- I look forward to a great conversation!

What's really going on in Wisconsin

2011-03-07T21:38:00.004-05:00

Is the rhetoric around the education system in the United States making anyone else's head want to explode? I had been following the standoff in Wisconsin between the governor, its teachers (and other public sector workers) and their unions with interest, but have pulled back out of disgust over the ways in which teachers are being demonized and demoralized in the debate. I can understand why a state government might take a hard look at public sector union practices in times of budgetary hardship to look for ways to reduce wasteful spending. What I cannot fathom, however, is how that process has brought forth the seriously misguided notion that somehow teachers are responsible for debt crises gripping state governments.

Last year, I spent three months studying the U.S. education system and how it is changing based on the introduction of "schools of choice," mostly taking the form of charter schools. Since the advent of No Child Left Behind and all the way through the Race To the Top, standardized testing and giving parents other options so that they can pull their children out of failing schools have been the gold standard of saving public education.

In the process of promoting and enforcing these tenets of education "reform," teachers have received the largest share of blame for failing schools and poor performing students. The blaming of teachers for the failures of an enormous, highly variable, and incredibly diverse educational system is dubiously simplified and ignores the critical contextual factors that impact student and school performance: poverty, racial isolation, and funding for public education. Diane Ravitch points out in her book that children in low poverty schools are performing just as well, if not better than, school children in countries around the world that rank higher than the U.S. on standardized testing. It is the pockets of high poverty, low resourced schools-predominantly in areas populated by poor, urban and rural school children- that lower national test averages in reading and math.

This is not a coincidence. So long as the debate misguides the public into thinking that somehow by stripping teachers of their collective bargaining rights and privileges-not to mention their dignity and pride in the profession as a result of virulent public discourse-we can fix the school system and balance budget sheets, progress cannot and will not be made.

How are other countries doing it? Currently, Finland's education system is viewed as one of the best, if not THE best in the world. Why? Turns out Finland is basically doing exactly the opposite of conventional U.S. education reform wisdom by: eliminating standardized tests, providing hot meals and healthcare for public school students. government subsidized graduate education for all teachers (the belief is that if you go into teaching as a public service, you should not go into debt doing so), and making teaching a top paid profession (Side note: an entry level bachelors or master's degree holding elementary school teacher makes, on average, $33K per year. At the end of their careers, these teachers are likely to have maxed out at $78K per year). The strategies that have fueled Finland's education system ascent stand in direct opposition to what the United States is doing to improve public education.

If we are going to improve educational opportunity and the system itself in the United States, we must honor teachers and the profession, not denigrate them in the public sphere. If we want students to perform better in the classroom and get into (or even consider going) to college, teaching must be marketed to the brightest and most talented of college graduates. Teaching must be held up as a vital, honorable career path, steeped in responsibility to the nation for educating the next generation.
Teachers are not the enemy. In fact, teachers at every level, every day are shaping and molding the intellect of the nation. They are responsible for developing in students the capacity and desire to learn, to question, and to lead.

The battle for collective bargaining rights in Wisconsin has opened a tremendous opportunity for dialogue about what is happening in education today, and how ineffective current policies are at improving the student outcomes nationwide. But, it is also a smokescreen. The debate and dialogue over bloated pensions and healthcare plans for teachers distracts from the larger and much more dire issue of educational inequality and systemwide failures across the educational landscape. For the American public to see the former and be blinded by convoluted rhetoric to the latter would be a tragedy nearly as great as the dismal state of the education system itself.

The Daily Show - Crisis in Dairyland - For Richer and Poorer
Tags: Daily Show Full Episodes,Political Humor & Satire Blog,The Daily Show on Facebook

Confessions from a Recovering Twitter Hater

2011-02-09T16:50:00.001-05:00

I can say, without irony or sarcasm, that Twitter has had a major impact on my life over the past year. I can also say that a little over a year ago, I would have literally laughed out loud at anyone who might have uttered a similar statement. I admit it, I was a naysayer. When my boyfriend first introduced me to the concept of Twitter, I thought it was dumb. I remember saying to him, "Why does the world need another way to not REALLY talk? Why do we need more status updates?? Facebook is bad enough!" And poor Terry (@brockter), he tried to convince me otherwise. He told me that he was meeting people he would have never talked to if Twitter didn't exist, that he was making networking connections across our very large campus. I nodded and bit my tongue. Mostly, I just didn't believe him.

I am a people person, an extrovert to the absolute core. I pride myself on maintaining close connections to friends and family. My energy comes from interactions with others. I LOVE to talk. But before Twitter (and to some extent even now), I found myself deeply jaded by what I observed in my own and others' use of Facebook. Relationships reduced to a "status," friend requests from people I barely knew, and endless, sometimes creepy, photos of the personal exploits of acquaintances' lives had me convinced that social media was degrading human communication. This conclusion intersected with Twitter's founding and subsequently my response was to scoff and ignore. I was a major hater.

But here's what changed my mind. Terry started telling me about this group that was forming in the Lansing community; a group of Twitter users who were taking their virtual connections and making them personal. Every week, the Lansing Twitterati started getting together for happy hour. To, you know, talk for real. Still skeptical, I agreed to accompany Terry to said happy hour. Doing so changed my perception of Twitter completely.

I met people at this Lansing "Tweet Up" that I would have never met otherwise, all of whom had met through Twitter. My semi-regular visits to the Lansing Happy Hour Club (#lhhc) resulted in new friendships, networking connections, and great conversations with smart people. It also softened me to Twitter, helped me to ease in, and transformed me into a devoted user.

Twitter is not about status messages sent out blindly into cyberspace. It is about building and sustaining conversations, creating dialogue with like (and sometimes unlike) minds, and for me, it's about constantly learning new things. Through Twitter, I have made direct contacts at universities across the country, communicated with major corporations (@Delta, @WholeFoods, for example), and found a voice among my followers and those I am following. Every day, in small ways, I contribute my ideas and opinions to a community of Twitter users, from whom I gain so much insight and knowledge to which I would not previously have had access. That's what makes Twitter so great- it asks very little of you (literally only 140 characters) and you get so, so much in return.

Yesterday, we held our first William and Mary Tribe Tweet Up in Williamsburg at a local bar. Over the course of 2 hours, nearly 20 people visited the event, all users of social media on our campus and in our community. Again, I experienced the tremendous energy that comes from putting smart, engaged social media users in the same room together. I learned new things about offices on campus and who works in them, met members of the Williamsburg community, and got to know lots of new colleagues. I can now say I know (not know OF, but actually KNOW) people in the registrar, admissions, creative services, and university relations offices. As a new professional, this increases my web of connections exponentially.

The true Twitter Haters out there may not be buying this. But from one (former) naysayer to another, let me tell you, hating Twitter without trying it or asking an avid user to help you understand it is to miss out on a great tool and even greater opportunities. So give it a chance. Because trust me, if my skepticism can be overcome, I'd bet yours can too!

Calling more teachers! Well, "some" teachers.

2011-02-01T14:34:00.001-05:00

A week has passed since the State of the Union address and I am processing the education narrative Barack Obama etched out during the speech. As a state employee of a public 4-year college, I was eager to hear positive remarks about funding for K-12 and higher education. After all, education is the President's thing, right? I mean, have you read Dreams From My Father? This man believes in education!

Maybe not. The President indicated that education was critical in order to "win the future," and even issued an eyes-forward, speak-into-the-camera plea to the young people of America to do something real and of value by becoming teachers. I was happy to hear the clarion call to education careers, until he said this:

"And over the next 10 years, with so many baby boomers retiring from our classrooms, we want to prepare 100,000 new teachers (Hooray!)...

in the fields of science and technology and engineering and math." (Oh.)

What about the rest of the subjects? Why issue a call for 100,000 teachers, in light of the reality that so many educators will be retiring, only to replace that broad swatch of seasoned teachers with folks in science, technology, engineering, and math? What about art, literature, music, and history?

Because it's not education that is most critical here; education is the vehicle by which the US is to get its swagger back. Our students have fallen behind many other countries in their test scores (which we all know are a totally accurate, unbiased and effective measure of knowledge and learning), particularly in math and science. So to regain status, we need to educate and pump out more scientists, engineers, and techies into our economy. Educate students in areas with market value. Recruit educators to teach those subjects. Undervalue academic areas of interest deemed to be without earning or production potential. Problem solved!

In order to bring balance and stability to the economy and nation, Americans must make sure children are prepared to compete in a global marketplace that puts high value on science and technology. But, I grimaced when the President made that call for teachers, then underscored it with the notion that he only meant "some teachers." I was hopeful when Obama remarked that we needed to give the teaching profession the respect it deserves; disheartened when he provided not a single whisper of action as to how such value could be achieved.

Don't pay lip service to teachers and educators, Mr. Obama. When you make a call for young people to become teachers, you've gotta tell them why it's worth their while. Because what our college students see (or at least describe to their career counselors) is that teaching is the "back up career." It's the path they will take if nothing more lucrative or impressive pans out. Teaching is what they'll do for a few years, before going to law school, or grad school, or a government career, or whatever. It's not typically a first choice, rarely the only choice.

And why would they think anything else? The President wants students to become teachers of science, math, technology, and engineering, so that their students can go on and achieve success in those industries, earning more money and respect than teachers get? Where's the incentive for these future teachers? My guess is the idea that they'll be serving their country and teaching for the greater good isn't going to cut it when the economic reality for many students requires going deep into debt to get their degrees. It's hard to justify entering teaching making between $30-40K a year, when student loan payments may equal a full paycheck.

Worse, I fear another possibility is more likely; that even if we increase educational outcomes for science and technology, our best and brightest won't follow those career paths. Instead, they'll do what I've observed at two institutions and in my 3 years of career counseling- apply for jobs with the biggest paychecks, mainly in finance and banking. Besides, many of those science and technology jobs will require much more than a bachelor's degree by the time this generation of students finishes college. Our economic downturn has made that a certainty.

I say all of that to say this. There seems to be a fundamental disconnect between the realities of our education system and our economy. The President wants us to Race to the Top, but doing so implies that there will be winners and losers. Science and technology are the touted educational winners at this point in the dialogue, but I fear the end game may be a losing one for all of us.

For the love of food

2011-01-06T21:24:00.003-05:00

Have you ever eaten something so unbelievably delicious that you had to force the fork from your hand to stop (or have someone else do so for you)? Something so wonderful that you wanted to finish it all in seconds, but instead exhausted all mental stamina to savor it slowly, bite by bite? Yup, it was one of those nights.

Conspicuously hiding behind the simple title of "Cavatappi with Tomatoes and Sausage"- a recipe in the pasta section of the new Cooking At Home cookbook by Williams Sonoma- was a tremendously flavorful, simple, and deeply comforting dinner that quite literally demanded I write about it. Just picture it: perfect, curled tubes of semolina pasta cooked al-dente and smothered in a sauce of roasted roma tomatoes, fresh flat leaf parsley, hot fennel Italian sausage, and a touch (oh all right. a half cup) of heavy cream, which before meeting the pasta was given 20 minutes for flavor melding. A few turns of cracked peppercorns, a pinch of sea salt and a sprinkle of Pecorino Romano and I had what was, hands down, the most delicious pasta dish I had eaten in years. I could cry at the thought of the three (yes!) serving sizes of leftovers in my fridge.

Why, you ask, am I taking up my space and your time writing about my dinner? How, you ask, did a pasta dish pull me out of a deep blogging hiatus at 9:30 on a Thursday night? It hit me as I was eating and audibly mmm'ing and yum'ing and scrolling through the day's tweets. So many people are talking about new years resolutions, being "good" by eating less, worrying about weight, searching for new running and gym buddies... Don't get me wrong, these are all wonderful things, and all resolutions I fully support. But eating my culinary masterpiece tonight was a not so subtle reminder that 2011 may be filled with lofty goals (fitness or otherwise), but it also should be a year for simply enjoying what I love. Sometimes, that means running, or writing, or reading books about South Africa, or keeping in touch with friends. But often it means cooking and eating wonderful food and not feeling guilty for doing so.

Eat up, friends, and enjoy all the delicious things 2011 has to offer. Hit those fitness goals, but take time to relax and remember that new years resolutions and wonderful food don't have to be enemies if kept in moderation. Happy New Year!

In Defense of the Liberal Arts

2010-09-21T10:08:00.002-04:00

Yesterday afternoon, I met with an undergraduate student who wanted to talk about graduate school options. "I'm an English major," she said, "and I think I want to get a master's degree, or a PhD." Pretty typical in my line of work, so I asked her the all-important question: Why? She looked at her feet, fidgeted in her chair, and admitted quietly what so many before her have said: "Well, I'm an English major, what else am I supposed to do?"

Conversations like this make my blood boil. Why did she want to go to graduate school? Because, like many others, some faceless, nameless group of people had informed her that liberal arts majors are useless on the job market. That if she wants to make "real money" (whatever that means) she should have picked a major that mattered; either that or she should be seeking recommendation letters for admission to grad school.

First of all, who IS this nefarious group telling all my liberal arts students that the four years and thousands of dollars they are spending on a liberal arts degree is a waste? Who's encouraging them to jump into graduate school when truly they have not a clue what they want to do with their looming Bachelors degree, let alone a professional or graduate degree? Well, whoever you are, give it a rest.

Stop telling liberal arts majors that they don't have any marketable skills, and stop telling them that they won't make any money. Making a decision about a major- think about it, you were 19 or 20 years old when you did it- is one of the biggest and most important they have made, and many are already crippled with self doubt. So lay off, please, and give them some useful advice instead.

If your son, daughter, cousin, friend, whoever tells you they've decided to major in art history, don't immediately ask them "so what will you do with that major?" Because here's the truth, and anyone 2 or 3 years out of college knows it: no one asks you about your major. Sure, it's a talking point as an entry-level employee interviewing for a job, but if you can siphon out the transferable skills you gained in the major, usually that's what employers need to hear. But please, stop reinforcing the fraudulent line of thinking that major=career, because for most of the population, it doesn't.

Ask your liberal arts friend/relative/casual acquaintance why they chose that major- let them tell you about what excites them and what they enjoy studying. Ask them about the most interesting thing they've learned, or the most challenging class they've taken. In these answers, you'll hear the hallmarks of a strong liberal arts education: critical thinking skills, the ability to construct and defend an argument, creativity, overcoming obstacles and learning from them, writing and speaking skills, a breadth of knowledge and a depth of specific study. And, after you've heard these things, resist the urge to force the question, "that's great, so what are you gonna do with that stuff?" Trust me when I say, they're already asking themselves that every. single. day.

This issue is extra sensitive for me, because as you've probably guessed, I am a liberal arts major- Rhetoric and Communication Studies and Journalism double major, in fact. And I've been asked all those questions and befuddled by them. I've questioned, doubted, and sometimes artlessly defended my choices. But 6 years after college, I see their value. My journalism classes taught me to write, to challenge, to ask big questions, and to stand on what I believe in. Rhetoric and comm taught me how to express, critique, dismantle and rebuild my own ideas, and to communicate them effectively in a variety of ways. My professors in these classes challenged me to go beyond the words on a page of a textbook, and apply myself to jobs and internships and student leadership positions to put what I was learning into action.

Action is critical to success for students in the liberal arts. And while I will wield a rhetorical sword in their defense, I will not do the same for students who sit back and don't use the many resources colleges and universities provide for them to look beyond their interests, majors, and classes, toward what they might want to apply their skills to in the world of work. Don't equate selection of a liberal arts major and the seeming inability to find a job with one another. Whether you are a linguistics, political science, art, or English major, it doesn't much matter. What DOES matter is a student's willingness to find out what it is they would like to do, then gaining the experience in AND outside of class that helps them get there. Because while I sympathize with persecuted liberal arts majors struggling with the job search, I have no sympathy whatsoever for those who have been too apathetic or lazy to do the work to find what it is they want to do.

You may disagree with me on some (or many) of these points, and that's fine. But I am sick to death of hearing from shame-faced liberal arts students about how they think they've wasted their time, or have been told they have no skills to show for all their hard work. It's simply not true. So instead of criticizing or interrogating these students about their choices, talk to them about what you do, how you got there, and what you wish you would have done to make the path easier back when you were a college student. Talk about the twists and turns of your career, and how you were prepared (or not prepared) by your college experience. Encourage them to seek out resources from their career center or academic advising office. Tell them they need experience to get the job they want, not just a degree. And leave the choice of major off the table. Please.

The Young Adult-"Real" Adult Tug of War

2010-09-19T13:55:00.004-04:00

Being 26 years old is like straddling a great divide, with one foot planted in youth, the other struggling to find balance in adulthood. It is a unique time in life, where my mid-twenties compatriots and I are still somewhat able to live double lives. But in subtle ways, I get the impression that my time as a divide straddler is dwindling, that I no longer will be able to do some of the activities I love with the vigor of my teens and 20s. This is a difficult realization to make, and it comes from a number of factors. So fellow mid 20somethings, commiserate with me for a few moments on three major realizations that the march toward 30 (gulp) has brought to life.

I am comfortable with my body, just in time to notice its small failures. Perhaps one of the most difficult things about adolescence and young adulthood is the ongoing battle with the mirror and scale. We are bombarded with messages from every cultural direction, telling us what to look like, what to eat, how to dress, what kind of clothes we should buy, and how we should present ourselves to the world. Robert Kegan, a psychologist at Harvard, says that this concern with the other, the definition of self through the lens of everyone else, is a hallmark of young adulthood. The stress of conforming to societal ideals about appearance, and its debilitating effects, are often seen most clearly in college students, who struggle mightily with competing messages of "be yourself" and "be like everyone else." I am happy to say that, 5 years after college, I struggle with body image less and less. And, surprisingly, I have found that the less I worry about looking and being perfect, the better and more lovely I feel. Ultimately, that self-esteem struggle of the 20s causes major unhappiness, and a complete inability to see oneself clearly. The distance from college has helped me let that go.

But, the trouble lies in the fact that, as I have grown more comfortable in my own skin, my body has in some ways begun to show the signs of betrayal. I can't run long distances the way I used to. It takes longer to recover from physical activities. I feel the effects of two or three beers the next morning. I see small signs of aging in the form of wrinkles and gray hair. I'm comfortable with my appearance, but also have to begin confronting the inevitable changes that come with getting older. Scary.

Some things are funny, and some things are not. Perhaps also related to the stage of life where definition of self is largely external, I have found that the older I get, the less tolerant I am of ignorance. Gone are the days where I'd thoughtlessly laugh at people who make hateful, sexist, racist, or toxic comments disguised as "jokes." I can't pinpoint exactly when this transition took place, but since it has, the fake laughter has stopped. This can be quite awkward at times, as there are many people whose only means of humor is at the expense of others. What is even more awkward is admitting to myself that this is part of who I am now, and that may mean that acquaintances of the past no longer have a place in my life. These feelings extend not only to the ignorant jokers, but also to people who begin stories with "This might be racist, but" or "I am not sexist, but..." If these phrases are necessary to tell a story or explain a point, chances are what's being said IS racist, IS sexist, is offensive. My tolerance for such interactions has swiftly vanished in my journey toward 30.

We don't have forever. Being 26 comes with a lot of birth-life baggage. Friends are getting married and having children. Elderly relatives pass away. Twenty-somethings are caught in the middle, pulled roughly in both directions. For me, this has been one of the greatest struggles of my mid-20s; constantly feeling as though I have to defend my position- in a long term relationship, focused on my career and my own growth, content with the present- from the questions and remarks on both sides. Suddenly, at 26, my marital status is of great concern to my older relatives (and sometimes, to people I've just met), whether I am renting or working toward purchasing a house changes opinions, and social circles are divided between singles, couples, and families. I have to admit this is part of being 26 that is most complicated; I know I won't be here forever, but I also know I like where I am right now and find myself actively resisting external forces propelling me to make decisions before I am ready or based on what everyone else my age is doing.

I am sure there are many, many other aspects of the mid-20s worthy of discussion here. Perhaps this is just one of a multi-part series of reflections about what it means to be young adult in 2010. I am curious about whether others nearing 30 are experiencing similar or different realizations. I'd be delighted if you'd share them in the comments.

You Teach, They Learn... Right?

2010-09-15T21:15:00.003-04:00

With the first day of the career development seminar series I'm teaching looming (next Monday), last week's Chronicle of Higher Education article about learning outcomes and assessment was extremely timely. Essentially, writer Robin Wilson acknowledges increasingly loud calls for accountability and proof that what teachers are teaching is not only being absorbed but truly learned by college students. And, learning outcomes assessment is a great idea in theory, but conflicts entirely with faculty culture.

The hard truth that emerges from Wilson's discussion is that tenure track faculty at 4-year institutions are rarely rewarded for teaching, let alone teaching well; disproportionately, tenure decisions are based on research load, publications, books, and well, not teaching. A faculty colleague told me that the real devil in the process is that by the time young scholars get tenure, they are so exhausted little energy or time is left for innovative teaching, assuring students are learning, or caring about either. And that's fair, because after all, Stanley Fish once said "teachers are responsible for the performance of teaching, not for its result..." Right?

Now, I am not assuming that such assertions are reality across the board for faculty. But, the fact that assessment of student learning has become an industry unto itself makes the disconnect between the realities of faculty life and the push for more accountability to key stakeholders- parents, students, investors, accreditors- more starkly apparent.

Lots of things complicate the rather straightforward idea of assessing student learning. Learning outcomes assessment requires professors to craft- well before the start of class- a set of measurable objectives to serve as the foundation of the course, then seek to prove or disprove, during and after the semester, that students are making progress toward attaining said outcomes. Ideally, results of such assessment help teachers to improve their teaching and thus increase student learning. It doesn't always happen this way.

Last fall, I co-taught a semester-long undergraduate leadership course. Dutifully, my teaching partner and I created a set of what we thought to be reasonable, comprehensive learning objectives, and went to great lengths to measure our students' progress throughout the semester. On the last day of class, we were talking informally about the things they had learned and what they wish they'd learned. I will never forget this. A student raised his hand and said, "All the leadership theories and stuff were great, but uh, I really wish I knew how to apply it to like, my life." Heads were nodding along with this guy's comment, and others chimed in that the class had been fun, they'd learned stuff, but they didn't know what to do with it. I believe our central learning outcome was something like this: "to provide students with the theoretical and practical knowledge needed to apply leadership concepts in their academic and personal lives." And with that casual comment, and those nodding heads, we knew that what we'd set out to do, and teach, and measure, had fallen short.

Of course, teachers- whether disciples of learning outcomes assessment or not- can't take all the blame for students not learning. All sorts of complications come into play. Every student coming to class with a different set of skills and knowledge. Your class may or may not be important or seen as valuable to different students; "this class is just a filler," "I don't need your class for my major," and so on. Not to mention, good learning objectives are hard to write and to measure- most PhDs outside of education are not taught to BE professors through engagement with teaching and learning pedagogy that has produced the cult of the learning outcome. And even those of us in education struggle with them. To compound all these issues, different professors teach the same coursework in markedly different ways, making departmental or programwide learning outcomes or assessments of them near impossible.

All this leads me to a host of concerns. I worry that "learning outcomes" and their assessment have become more buzz than action, more cliche than measure of accountability. The concept is well known enough that it is becoming more common to see learning objectives pop up on syllabi, accompanied by formal and informal assessment attempts. I worry these attempts are producing mounds of data no one's using, just so we can check the "we're assessing" box, rather than with intention. I worry that if learning outcomes assessment proliferates and becomes another "thing" that teachers do- like course evals- rather than a distinct tool used to identify what students are learning, that the whole endeavor will be for naught.

Teaching is tough. But proving learning has occurred is tougher. As I embark on another semester of expanding young minds- this time teaching sophomores about career development- I plan to give a "pre-test" to assess what they currently know, and a near identical "post-test" to see how (or if) they change as a result of taking the course. I'll use my learning outcomes to frame lesson plans, course discussions, and assignments. And I'll hope, against rationality, that at the end, no one will raise a hand to say "This was all great, but what did we learn again?"

Enlightenment... for Sale?

2010-08-12T19:20:00.003-04:00

Today, I was introduced to a truly marvelous term that gives voice to a deep feeling of discomfort I have experienced in response to reading Gretchen Rubin's book, The Happiness Project: "Priv-Lit." That's right, priv-lit, as in privilege-literature. Maybe I am the last person to get to the party and hit upon this apt term that describes a new-ish genre of non-fiction that has emerged and become hyper-glamorized over the last few years. But today I found out that our culture's glorification of these types of narratives is making others uncomfortable, too.

In the article "Eat, Pray, Spend," Joshuanda Sanders and Diana Barnes-Brown totally nail the unease I have been feeling in the run up to this Friday's release of Eat, Pray, Love, the movie, starring America's sweetheart, Julia Roberts. I should preface my thoughts by admitting that I enjoyed reading the book. I also sort of enjoyed Rubin's Happiness Project. And, I do think that the core message of both authors and others in the priv-lit arena is this: take the time to invest in self-improvement. That is totally a gospel I can preach.

But what makes me wildly uncomfortable is the medium through which these authors preach the message of self-worth, improvement, and the search for meaning: money. Sanders and Barnes-Brown sum this up pretty directly, by claiming that Eat, Pray, Love could be retitled, "Wealthy, Whiny, White." While I am sure Elizabeth Gilbert would argue, if confronted, that her message goes beyond her wealth and privileged place in American society and calls women to recognize their own worth, but how can they really? How can that message be seen through the fog of wild spending, career suicide, and complete self-indulgence the protagonist deals in during her journey across three countries over the course of a year? What percentage of women who have read Eat, Pray, Love (note: there are 5 million copies currently in print) can afford to take a full year away from home, their lives and families to go on a journey of self-enlightenment that would cost tens of thousands of dollars?

My guess is not many, and that is what makes me squirm the most. And not because I think every woman walks away from the book feeling as though she has to do yoga on a mountaintop in India in order to be "whole." But because I worry that in reading priv-lit, in pondering the extraordinary journeys of their wealthy female protagonists, readers may not gauge the value of the many millions of little things one can do to be happier, healthier, and more fulfilled.

The lives of these authors are not comparable to the lives of the average reader. I thought this constantly while reading The Happiness Project because often it was very difficult for me to hear the core message over the visual of Yale-educated, best-selling author Rubin sitting in her luxe New York City apartment, offering me kernels of wisdom about how to better organize my closets. I cannot empathize with Gilbert, even though I have suffered my share of loneliness, self-loathing and heartache, as she takes a year away from work to travel the world in search of, well, herself. These women are not kindred spirits to me, simply because we are light years apart on the social and financial hierarchy.

I am glad to have stumbled across Sanders and Barnes-Brown because their discussion of priv-lit gives context the creepy-crawley sensation I sometimes felt reading each book; the insidious message that the road to being "whole," independent and content comes only through rampant spending and worship at the altar of materialism. Scarier yet to me is that even if more people were able to embark on a pricey search for self, my guess is many would come to a painful conclusion. Trips, food, yoga class and lavish vacations can be bought. Happiness and contentment cannot.

My Endless Love

2010-08-10T21:31:00.004-04:00

Tonight, after taking in a movie, I spent a bit of time wandering around my new town and stumbled into a Barnes and Noble. For me, bookstores and libraries have always retained magical qualities, a sort of gravitational pull that I am rarely capable of resisting. Even though I have shelves of unread, perfectly wonderful books of all kinds, I cannot keep myself out of the stacks, touching the unbroken spines, the sometimes textured covers, thrumming my fingers over the pages.

This love affair of course did not develop all on its own. It was nurtured from the time I was tiny, as my mother packed my childhood nursery, then bedroom with literally hundreds of books, asked friends and family to give me more, and religiously (often, more religiously than our actual religious practice), she took me to the library. Summer wasn't a time for t.v. watching, or camp, or exotic trips for me- it was a time to see how many books I could fill the pages of the Summer Reading program's tracking list I got each year.

The librarian didn't know what to do with me. The goal for the summer in the reading program was to amass about 10 or 15 books for elementary and middle school kids. I would return after a week or two with a list filled front and back with dozens, literally dozens of books I'd documented, read, re-read. My 4 foot self would drag an old bookbag as big as me through the library doors after my Mom picked me up from the babysitter to drop off my conquests and to get more. I was insatiable.

Now, of course some of this love- borderline obsession- was a product of my childhood. My mother worked a lot and I spent mornings before and after school. as well as all summer, with an elderly, uber-Catholic disciplinarian of a woman who allowed no television, no loud games, and did not have much in the way of toys. It seemed like a curse at the time, delving out all those hours at her house, but what I realize now, having spent a sublimely pleasurable 20 minutes just wandering the stacks is how lucky I am.

At the risk of sounding old, kids today don't know what they are missing. Sure, they have video games that make them feel as though they are in a war-torn third-world country fighting for freedom, and DVR so that while playing, they don't miss their favorite shows. They've got Justin Bieber and Twilight premieres and texting. They are more worldly than I ever was. But it makes me sad sometimes that the bookstores and libraries of the world are not getting the respect and gratification they deserve. These places taught me to seek, to question, to write, and to think. They were windows to the world when mine was so closed and small. Their books gave me inspiration, imagination, hope for more and better things to come. And no matter how many tech devices come out to replace them, for me nothing will ever be as rewarding as turning the last page of a truly great novel, or dusting off a copy of an old favorite to begin it again. No cold, cool piece of machinery will be able to replace the weight of a book in my hand, the flutter of the pages, the smell of the binding, the image of the cover. I worry future generations won't share this same feeling, as many in my own may already have moved beyond it into the digital age. I, however, am happy right where I am.

Student-as-Teacher: Crossing the Border

2009-09-01T10:28:00.006-04:00

September is here, and fall is in the air. This time of the year has always been magical for me because with it comes the start of a new school year. I can almost smell the fresh Crayola crayons, the pencil shavings, the dust of the chalkboard. New beginnings come with the fall, chances for new achievements, for mastering new content through reading, writing, studying.

I am a student at heart, and I think I always will be. Long before boys, or sports, or a good white wine, school was my first true love. I know this because looking back on my behavior leading up to the first day of classes, there is no denying I was preparing for a big date. I would organize, re-organize, and organize again my fresh new school supplies in my bookbag, agonize over which lunchbox was just the right size, and lay out that first day outfit weeks in advance (which is saying something, because this behavior occurred even during 8 years of uniform-wearing private school). I would not sleep the night before, but instead stay up late writing my name in all my new notebooks, thinking about what the school year would bring.

In an oft chaotic and tumultuous childhood, school became a refuge, a place where I knew there were always answers. If I studied hard, I would get good grades. If I did all of my homework, read every book I could get my hands on, the solutions were there. Like a treasure hunt, the school year for me was a tantalizing opportunity to discover, question, and confirm.

Of course, it becomes clear somewhere around middle school that maybe all of the answers aren't there, that maybe the answer is there is no one right answer, but that did not stop me from trying.

Though tempered with anxiety about "grown-up stuff," I am still that first-day jitters, pig-tailed, notebook-labeling little girl when it comes to the start of the semester. I can't wait to dive into fresh textbooks and ponder new ideas. But, this school year is different than all the others in one very distinct way. This year I am a student, but I am also a teacher.

Tomorrow I begin a semester-long voyage into unfamiliar territory, co-instructing an undergraduate course in leadership. For the first time, I will see what school is like from the other side of the desk, the view from the chalkboard (which is now more likely a high-tech whiteboard). And though I have taught students before in other settings, tomorrow will be different.

Much of the summer was spent preparing for this moment, this transition from student to teacher. Teaching this semester has the potential to change my perspective on education, learning, and possibly even my career. I hope that crossing the border will help me figure out where I stand, and in particular, in what direction I'll move come graduation in May.

Senses in the City

2009-08-01T14:47:00.006-04:00

New Orleans is delicious. I've spent weeks and weeks trying to think of neat, simple ways to describe my feelings about this place, and discovered a few nights ago that this one word- delicious - encompasses all that is this town I've grown to love.

New Orleans is a literal and figurative feast for the senses.

From the unrelenting heat and humidity, to the

pounding rains of summer thunderstorms, the weather of a New Orleans summer begs and pleads for acknowledgement. You cannot deny it, and should you try, it will laugh at you as you frantically try to wipe the sweat from your eyes, your neck, your back, and any other conceivable place with a sweat gland or pore. It was hellish at first, but I have come to find the heat of New Orleans endearing; it literally is like nothing else. Maybe I'm deranged from it, but I think I kinda like it! (70 degrees in Michigan in a few weeks is going to feel like the dead of winter...uh oh)

New Orleans is an olfactory, visceral, visual, and above all delicious adventure. You cannot walk down a street in this town and not have some spectacularly powerful sight/sound/smell/taste caress (or punch) your senses. And I am not just talking good or bad things here friends, NOLA's got it all- the full spectrum. At one end is the unmistakable, undeniable wretchedness that is Bourbon Street on a sunny, sweltering weekend afternoon. Around 11 a.m., bars are hosed out, and the remnants of revels from the night before trickle into the gutters of the streets. And, the trash gets taken out, placed not so gently on the sidewalks. This sounds horrible, and it is meant to, because it is. But it must be known in order to understand the depth of the spectrum, and cross over to the promised land.

That land is a bit more difficult to pinpoint because it is found across the city: at the crowded counters of Camellia Grill in Carrollton biting into a syrup and butter-smothered pecan waffle , or at a tiny metal table covered in powdered sugar at Cafe du Monde as the smells of freshly brewed chicory coffee and beignets in the deep fryer waft through the air; the way the summer

breeze swipes sweaty hair from the foreheads of passengers sitting near the front of the St.

Charles Streetcar or causes the Spanish moss on the live oaks to sway overhead in Audubon Park; watching threatening black clouds roll in from the Mississippi bringing an afternoon storm, or the sun setting over the river from its tranquil, grassy shores; stomping feet along with the 15-piece street jazz band that plays by the Foot Locker on Canal and Bourbon as people of all ages dance in the streets, sitting on a rough wooden bench in Preservation Hall, under ancient ceiling fans and orange lights as the band plays When the Saints Go Marchin' In and invites the audience to sing along, or the gospel music rolling out into the streets from every church and cathedral on Sunday mornings. I could go on. I will go on long after I leave here.

New Orleans is by no means perfect. As I said the spectrum is wide, and the senses are assaulted with regular doses of the good and the bad that make up this city. But it really is like no other place in the world. I've never been anywhere so alive with color, music, food, and soul, a whole lotta soul. This is why, after the most horrendous storm in decades, people came back here. Because dodging a post-weekend puddle of gross on Bourbon Street seems a small price to pay for the deliciousness the city can offer, and does offer if you're willing to reach out and take it all in.

Just What I (K)Need

2009-07-21T20:47:00.003-04:00

Picture this. You are in a wonderful, caring, fulfilling relationship with someone who you think is "the one." Sure, there are ups and downs, but for the most part, your relationship makes you feel sustained and content, happy and accomplished. All is right with the world. Then one day, out of nowhere, the one you love breaks your heart. There seems to be no rationale, and all of that happiness, contentment, and satisfaction are ripped from you without warning. You dread leaving home each day because you are afraid you will see the one who broke your heart on the streets of your town, in all your favorite places, and you know it will hurt all over again.

We've all been there at some point in our lives, felt the heartbreak, lived in fear that it could come rushing back. That's how I felt today. Because of my knee.

For the past 10 years, I have considered myself a fairly consistent runner, and we started out just friends. For years, running is what I did to prepare for field hockey and lacrosse try-outs, a method I used to lose weight, a tool for socializing with my best friend, Kate, with whom I'd jog our neighborhood trail nearly daily. But slowly, we took our relationship to the next level. Soon, I was signing up for races, testing myself, testing the strength of the relationship. First 5Ks, then 10, then 10 milers, half marathons, and finally, the ultimate potential deal breaker- the marathon. And as you may have read in previous posts, that's where the heartbreak set in.

My left knee (LK) is noncommittal. It tortured me with a pain deep and strong enough to keep me from running, but not intense enough to warrant surgical correction. Running and I broke up at sundown on May 24, 2008.

To sum up the loss and sense of incompleteness with any other concept than heartbreak would be unrealistic. Running had gotten me through some incredibly challenging times; it helped me to see myself, to be confident, to challenge myself, and to grow. I wasn't quite the same without it. Gradually this summer, however, we started to see each other again. LK did not protest, did not interfere, and blissfully I slipped back into the high that comes from running, which I honestly believe is hard to find anywhere else.

Tonight was a night like any other, just me, my iPod, and Audubon Park, meeting for our weekly 40 minutes or so. I felt particularly awesome, moreso than usual. Dusk was falling, the breeze cool against my sweaty forehead, my pace steady, in fact, faster and more determined than usual. I was even doing that thing where I smile to myself, at other people, and just in general because I felt so good. You get where this is going, of course. LK came to town.

I rounded the corner of the park at 25:07 on my watch and felt completely in the zone until I started to feel a creeping sensation on the left side. I brushed it off for a few seconds, but then the discomfort grew more steady, and threatened my pace. The sensation gave me goosebumps and stopped me in my tracks.

I felt (and am feeling) pain in my LK tonight, the same kind that plagued me last year. And I'm scared. I walked it off, I'm icing it up, but it still hurts, and for the first time in months, I'm feeling uncertain. I don't want my love affair with running to end again, especially on LK's terms and not mine, which means I'll play it safe for a few days... I don't want to lose it again.

Smoke and Mirrors

2009-07-13T17:41:00.007-04:00

This past Saturday, Amy and I took a much-needed sojourn out of town to relax before the start of our final two-day orientation session of the summer. We drove back to Gulfport, Mississippi, where I had spent a day at the beach a few weekends before a little more than an hour from New Orleans. After a restful morning on the quiet shores of the Gulf of Mexico, with few people sharing the beach with us for miles, we did some outlet shopping and headed home.

Driving to Gulfport is basically a straight shot east on I-10. About 15 minutes into our return trip, a billowing orange cloud appeared on the horizon. At first, it seemed as though the cloud might have been colored by the lowering sun, but as we grew closer, we realized it was too low to the ground and the thick black smoke being emitted from the base.

I started to panic slightly. I could feel my heart pounding as we neared the thick smoke, saw the break lights of the cars ahead of us, and could smell the acrid cloud as it flowed through the car vents. I could see cars disappearing into the cloud and contemplated stopping in the middle of the highway. No emergency vehicles were on the scene, and no sirens or horns were heard.

So we drifted slowly into the unknown, into a thick cloud of hot smoke, where we could see a huge column of fire on the side of the road. Luckily came out on the other side with its scent still heavy in the car, but we had no idea what had hap pened.

As the fire and its ominous cloud grew smaller in the rearview mirror and we continued the drive home, everything seemed much clearer. Literally. I felt more aware and cognizant of my surroundings. The fear and confusion of the fiery cloud brought the remainder of my I-10 drive into sharp focus, and for the first time, I saw Katrina. Not just her ghost, but Katrina, in all her terrible destruction.

Alongside I-10, houses are still abandoned, mere shells of their former existence. Tattered blue tarps drape across the roofs of many buildings that remain empty, creating a collage, a blue-

quilted reminder of a once-in-a-lifetime storm. For Sale signs sit on the edge of properties where only battered foundations remain, or in some cases, a staircase leading to nothing; a stairway to a hole where life used to be. For the first time since I have been here, I felt as though I had come out of a dream-like state, awake and fully aware of Katrina, and the reality that though it's been 4 years on August 29, she is still all around us.

It pains me to write this. It hurts to read stories and look at images and really start to feel the sense of loss present in this community. Our assistant vice president spoke to Amy and I very recently about this loss, and how its pangs still- and will always- haunt him and his family. His family has lived in New Orleans for nearly 30 years. He raised his children here, created a life here, and during Katrina, he lost it all. When he returned from evacuation, his home, his church, and indeed the community he and his family had been so intimately a part of, was entirely and irrevocably destroyed. There are people he hasn't spoken to since August 28, 2005- he has no idea if these lost friends and neighbors even survived the storm. I am not doing his poignant words justice here, but this phrase stuck with me, and always will: "Imagine your house burns down. The smoke clears, and all might be gone, but your neighbors are still there, your life is still there. You can rebuild. Now, imagine the whole neighborhood burns down at the same time. What do you do then?"

Katrina burned the neighborhood down, the whole region, an entire piece of the fabric of our country burned to the ground and much of it has not been rebuilt. Some of it is still burning, its smoldering aftermath still palpable and deeply painful. It may continue to burn in the hearts of New Orleanians and others from this region for the rest of their lives. And after the burning's done, there will be much that is lost forever, too much that will never return.

I am only now beginning to see past the smoke, beyond the shiny mirrors of what the outsider might see, and through the distortion of media images fed for months to the world about Katrina. I am no expert, but I am gaining a sense of place amidst all the loss, grief, fear, confusion, hope, and pride that has enveloped this region since 8.29.05. I expect that the visceral experience I have had here will hurt long after I leave, and in a way, I feel I'm better for it. I am glad that I am able to share this pain with the Gulf region. I can't rebuild it all, nor can I put out the remaining fires, nor can I fill the void the storm left behind. But I can tell its story.

If you are reading this, please consider coming here and experiencing New Orleans for yourself. Forget about what you have seen on TV or read in the newspaper. It's not all about Bourbon Street, or Mardi Gras or Ray Nagin. It is about bearing witness to the people, the art, the music, the spirit, the despair and the hope embodied by an American community that is starting over, rebuilding, rewriting. And as Louis Armstrong said, I know I want to be in that number. I hope you do too.

Runner's High

2009-07-08T22:00:00.006-04:00

This saying may already exist out there in the annals of famous philosophical quotes, but today, I kept thinking about it, so I wanted to share it with you; Every day offers unique opportunities for great things to happen.

It is nearly mid-July here in south Louisiana, and I have to say, weather-wise it has been a weird week. I have been in New Orleans for one month as of today, and yesterday was the first day of legitimate rainfall since my arrival. It has rained on and off since Monday, accompanied by a radical drop in temperature. When my family visited over the holiday weekend, 100-degree temperatures plagued us daily. The day they all departed, these rains came, and it's been cool ever since.

After work, I laced up my running shoes and headed outside, intent on taking advantage of the fact that it is indeed mid-July in south Louisiana AND at 6 p.m. it was 79 degrees. I have run on and off since I've been here, and blogged about the experience, but today was different. As I got started, I couldn't help but think that today may be the only 79-degree day I experience in this place all summer. And that could not be wasted with a quickie run around Audubon Park... today's weather offered a unique opportunity of which to take advantage.

Approximately 14 months ago, I ran a marathon. Crazy, right? I was wildly unprepared for it, my longest run only reaching 14 miles (for non-runners, a full marathon is 26.2),because about 3/4 of the way into my training, I sustained a knee injury- perhaps the worst kind of injury one can have, because it was by no means debilitating, but hurt me just enough to not be able to push myself as far as I would have liked in training. In short, it was not enough to quit running cold turkey, but it probably was unwise of me to go for it. But, I had plane tickets, family flying in, hotel reservations. And I am no quitter.

I crossed the finish line at the Bayshore Marathon in Traverse City, Michigan after 4 hours and 45 minutes. The pain was intense, in my knee and everywhere else. Though I completed a major milestone (good pun, I know) in my life as an athlete by sheer virtue of crossing that line, I have never experienced more self-induced pain and suffering in my life. By that evening, I could not move. I could not get out of bed on my own. I could not stop crying. Terry had to dress me. I could not sit, I could not walk without wincing. It was terrible.

And the knee was pissed. When I returned home, I could not do anything athletic for more than a month. I gained back all the weight I'd lost in training. I felt miserable. I had MRIs and x-rays, and the injury remained the same- not debilitating but ever-present. I was diagnosed with a small lateral meniscus tear; too small to operate, too large to function. I was resigned to hanging up the running shoes indefinitely.

But this year in Lansing, I've slowly been working my way back. All high-impact cardio stopped and was replaced by biking, yoga, and pilates; all good things, and things that kept me healthy. Substitutions.

I only ran a few times during the school year, afraid of my knee and the incessant pain therein, so transitioning into running again in New Orleans has been daunting. Today, however, I wanted to test things out. I mean, really? A 79-degree, breezy summer day in the flattest city I have ever lived in? Somebody upstairs was issuing me a challenge.

With a new iPod mix blaring in my headphones, I worked my way through the city. Somewhere around the 20-minute mark, a cramp in my stomach threatened to end my unique opportunity, but thanks to MJ's Man in the Mirror and the beautiful St. Charles Avenue sites, I pushed on through. The next time I checked my watch, 48 minutes had passed. Not a whisper from the knee, mind you, not even a twinge. As I crossed the entrance of Tulane, a broad grin drifted across my face; this was the Ashleigh who signed up for the marathon, the runner hidden behind the pall of knee pains and fears.

I reached Loyola at the 60 minute mark, dripping sweat, tired, but so incredibly happy. I laughed aloud, people stared at me on the sidewalk, I sang aloud to Justin Timberlake. I could feel every muscle in my legs, the pounding of my heart in my chest, and a deep sense of accomplishment for the six miles behind me... I could have gone further, miles further maybe.

Unique opportunities happen every day, to do something good, maybe even

something great, that makes life more sweet. As I came down from my runner's high, free of knee pain and full of satisfaction, I vowed to not hesitate when I recognize opportunities to do more, to venture beyond the norm. I could have not run, could have gone to the gym and whiled away some time on an elliptical, stayed afraid of knee fragility, stuck with routines. But not doing so, though tinted with risk, was much more inspiring.

God in all things?

2009-06-30T23:20:00.007-04:00

Loyola University is a Jesuit institution, which means that its mission and values relate to the Jesuit ideals of education set out by Saint Ignatius of Loyola (here on campus, he goes by Iggy, for short). Twenty-eight colleges and universities in the United States ascribe to these values, and I have come to feel a great affinity toward Jesuit educational institutions because of them. For example, the Jesuit identity of our institution indicates a special focus on the practice of discernment, or separating our thought and decision-making process from worldly wants, desires, and fears, and instead focusing on the deepest needs of our hearts and minds. Jesuit education promotes the idea of a unity between heart and head, as well as using our talents for the betterment of the world. There is also special attention placed on freedom for oppressed populations, holistic development, and working toward an end to poverty. These values are etched on the walkway in front of the Loyola library, and I enjoy reading them as I navigate my way around campus. But one always gives me pause: commitment to seeing God in all things.

As I mentioned in a previous post, I have undergone what Sharon Daloz Parks calls "spiritual shipwreck" over the past ten years. I arrived at college with a seemingly deep and solid Catholic faith that was brought into question by the many challenges of identity and the nature of knowledge while I was an undergraduate. I vacillated between different denominations, teachings, and beliefs for much of college, during which I experienced some painful losses of both family members and friends. As cliche as it may be, I experienced a crisis of faith in college from which I have yet to recover.

Over the past year or so, I have re-opened and begun the process of cautiously exploring the vault of my spirituality. I have attended different types of masses and spiritual gatherings, embraced the mind-body experience of yoga, read numerous books, articles and psychological theories about faith development, and even wrote papers about the spiritual struggle in college. While all of these things have helped me soothe the pain of losing something that was such an integral part of my childhood and young adult life, I still have not figured things out and the sense of emptiness created by my lack of faithful assurance has left a void inside me.

This summer, as I found comfort and conviction in the Jesuit ideals of education, I also have felt uncertainty about the idea that God is in all things. In the past few years, I have read, seen and experienced a lot of things that seem to contradict this concept in the form of war, greed, hatred and the wretched existence brought on humanity by the scourge of poverty and oppression.

I have felt disheartened and discouraged by these things, and have found it difficult to believe that there is a God out there who would allow such evils to exist in the world.

Last night, as I was muddling through my thoughts on a lot of these issues and feeling down about the lack of answers I was coming up with, I scoured my bookshelf for something to read that would distract me and my over-analytical brain. I picked up Ann Patchett's Truth and Beauty,

a nonfiction narrative of the author's friendship with a fellow writer, Lucy Gealy, a victim of cancer that left her with extreme facial disfigurement. No sooner did I begin reading the book did I start coming across random lines and passages that seemed to be speaking directly to me and my anxieties about faith, life, and my future.

p. 15"True spiritualism, more often then not, shows you just how hard things are, not how easy." For someone who is struggling with her faith, these words immediately popped out and soothed me.

p. 39 on writing "It's got to be every day. If you don't turn out pages every day, you're not really a writer. You're just playing at it... you won't be for real if you don't write the pages. Then you're just like everyone else. A lot of talk and nothing gets done. All promise, no delivery." This section too struck me, as I have spent most of this summer contemplating whether I have a future as an academic, and whether my desire to write and be read is enough to carry me to the next phase of my academic life.

and finally, p. 42-43 "I came to understand that night that I could not worry about [death] anymore. I knew then that it was just too enormous for me to manage, and that worrying about [it] would swamp me. If I was swamped by worry, I would be useless... I decided that night I would take all the hours of my life that could easily be spent worrying and instead I would try to [do something.].The world is saved through deeds, not prayer, because what is prayer but a kind of worry? I decided that my love [and passion] would have to manifest itself in deeds.

I read and re-read this passage maybe five times and thought to myself, how ironic it was that I had pulled a truly random book off of my shelf and found so many insights into what I was feeling anxious and stressed about? I thought about something Judy Deshotels, a resident chaplain on campus, had said me a few weeks earlier; "Prayer and spirituality take different forms for different people. Your work and devotion to others can also be a form of faith and prayer." Patchett's passage seemed to reinforce that message.

Although I still don't feel as though I am capable of seeing God in all things, despite my alignment and respect for many of the other Jesuit values, last night I began to think that maybe I do "see" God in books, and more generally, in the written word. And although I know I still have a long way to go in my own faith development, I like to think that that is a start.

Hide and Seek

2009-06-27T18:35:00.008-04:00

No matter how old I get, or how many times I have suffered, there is one mistake I make on a near-habitual basis: I underestimate the sun, and overestimate my ability to thoroughly apply sunscreen.

I took myself on a date

today. Me, myself, and I went to Gulfport, Mississippi, a shore town right on the Gulf of Mexico and only about 70 miles from my Loyola summer home. I sat on a completely isolated, brilliant white sand beach for about two hours. I saw and spoke to no one, spare an older man, Tom, an Ohio resident and truck driver, who introduced himself to me... we yankees can spot each other, I think. The rest of the time I drifted lazily between the last chapters of a book, taking pictures, and dips in the Gulf, which felt a little cooler than a warm bath.

I felt very patriotic today. Maybe it was the fact that every single lamp post and street sign in Gulfport had a flag attached. But mostly, I think it was because of how mysterious, beautiful, and diverse this country is. Within one hour I left the mansion-lined streets of Uptown New Orleans and landed on a deserted beach looking out over blue Gulf waters. Since living in Michigan I have seen beautiful lake shores, beaches and forests. On the drive down here, we saw mountains, rolling hills of vineyards, rivers, and national parks. We of course also saw strip malls, billboards in bad taste, desolate towns, and a lot of fast food restaurants. But what's great about this country is none of that seems out of place. It all fits together like one of those 1,000 piece puzzles; the hard parts of it make you think, make you angry, drive you crazy, the easy parts are soothing and reassuring, and when you finally get it all together, it just makes sense.

But my drive to Mississippi was also confusing. Everywhere down here- the radio, the lunch conversation, the newspaper, the walls of restaurants- I see and hear about Katrina. I hear sentences that begin with "Since Katrina," or "Because of Katrina," or "Before Katrina." I remember the pictures of the flooded streets of the city and its poor neighborhoods, the roofs blown off houses, and the horrible images brought to the world from the Louisiana Superdome

(I'm including a picture of it from my window). I was anxious to get here and learn about the storm, the aftermath, the recovery. But being new to the area, finding evidence of Katrina is not easy for me. Which is creepy. The media coverage of abandoned buildings, FEMA trailers, ruined neighborhoods... all of that is weirdly missing if you are a visitor to the city. This is both disorienting and unnerving.

I expected that on my drive to Gulfport, as the MS coastline was hit incredibly hard, would yield signs of the storm and recovery efforts. I was wrong. After my day in the sun, I stopped in Bay St. Louis for a cool drink and a snack at a small coffee

shop called the Mockingbird Cafe. After

a fresh scone and an ice-cold strawberry lemonade, I made a quick trip to the restroom- its walls were adorned with newspaper articles-turned-plaques of the recovery of the house and area where I stood. The article spoke of how the cafe had been like the living room of the community after Katrina, whose wrath closed 100% of the businesses in the community. People gathered in Mockingbird to comfort one another, to mourn their losses and to rebuild the one most important thing the storm had taken from them; their community.

Bay St. Louis was hit by a 34-foot high wall of water during Katrina. There is a twisted oak tree that still stands in the town facing the Gulf- seven people and a dog survived the storm because they were able to cling to this tree. I drove right past it while I was downtown and only learned of its significance after I got home and began thinking about this post. It is incidents like this and others that make it feel as though I'm in an eerie game of hide and seek here; sometimes I am looking right at Katrina's ghost, and don't even realize it.

Just as my travels are helping me better visualize and put together the unique puzzle of our country, so is this experience in New Orleans and the Gulf Coast. I am slowly piecing together the pains and the stories of this region, and hope that before I leave, I will have gained an understanding of what happened here that I can share with my own community.

Heck List of Things Not Previously Known about New Orleans

2009-06-25T16:42:00.004-04:00

10. How slow people walk in the South; at first it was really frustrating, as I would outpace my orientation leaders and co-workers by many feet. Then, the temperature started to skyrocket. Now, I understand.
9. Who Satchmo is; this name is thrown out all over the city, and on our very own Loyola campus. I now know that Satchmo refers to Louis Armstrong.
8. Bourbon Street kind of smells like a mix of alcohol, barf, and trash; not a huge surprise, but would have been nice to be forewarned about!
7. Jazz permeates everything; music is not just confined to the smoky lounges and bars of the French Quarter... It pipes through the speakers at the grocery store, we play it at all of our orientation events, companies use it as hold music for phone calls. Literally, it's everywhere. I love it!
6. Potholes; I thought Michigan's roads were the worst in America. I was wrong. I learned yesterday that U.S. states get money for enforcing the drinking age, and some of that money is directed toward road repair. Louisiana, home of the to-go cocktail and lack of open container laws, laughed at this for years apparently, meaning there are lots of roads in dire need of repair. Also, the streets in New Orleans proper are bordered by many large oak trees, whose roots don't like to be contained by sidewalks and pavement. It truly is a recipe for car destruction. Check out the New Orleans Pot Hole Patrol.
5. Mardi Gras is not the only time of year when you may be pelted in the face with plastic beads.
4. One word: Nutria . Gross.
3. "Late" does not translate well; New Orleanians are okay with taking their time. This includes staff and student leaders, much to my own dismay.
2. Open doors; Everyone here likes to hold the door for me. However, if I were to hold the door open for a man here, he will refuse to walk through it, and will wait for me to go first. Awkward, if you don't realize why you are having a stare-down contest with an elderly man who seems to be smiting you for your polite gesture- yup, that was me.
1. That the Big Easy was easy; I have actually adjusted really quick to life here. I have been able to cope with the heat, get around, and assimilate into Loyola's culture with relative ease. An occasional daquiri I am sure has helped with that, but for the most part livin's easy in Crescent City!

Negotiations.

2009-06-13T17:25:00.002-04:00

Nothing makes me feel more accomplished than surviving a hot summer run. I had forgotten how much this weather is the reason I love (and sometimes hate) running. Around 3 p.m. I decided to lace up the running shoes and go to the gym. I put my headphones in, started rockin' out to get myself pumped for it, and exited the front door of my residence hall. On the grassy quad, a group of guys was playing baseball, there was a decent breeze blowing, and even a few passing clouds. Observing this scene, I thought, "hmm, maybe I should just stay out here. So I took off toward parts unknown in Uptown New Orleans.

Running when its hot is a test of what you're made of. You have to start, which is half the battle, get into something that resembles a pace or rhythm, and then you have to keep going until you can't go anymore. Things started off relatively well, as I leapt over sidewalk cracks in front of enormous Southern mansions draped in shade by old oak trees. For probably the first 15 minutes, you might have seen me and thought to yourself, "wow she's sweaty, but it looks like she is enjoying herself!" I would have agreed with you.

But then I turned a corner. I reached Magazine Street, made a right, and all that lay ahead of me was blazing sun, cars, and open stretches of treeless sidewalk. I could have stopped. I wanted to. But instead, I turned up my iPod, wiped my brow, and dug in. Sweat dripped mercilessly into my squinted eyes as I looked for a place of refuge. I hit the corner of Webster Street and found myself in shade again, though I felt as if I had just run through Dante's ninth level of hell. By the time I made it to the corner of Calhoun and St. Charles, where Loyola is located, every part of me was screaming to stop, so I walked the last block and entered my hall again, soaked in sweat and feeling as though I had just won Olympic gold.

I forgot about these runs, these negotiations with my body and mind to keep going, which first began in Richmond, the birthplace of my love for the hot run. Questions rip through my brain, can I keep going? Can I make it one more block? Can I keep this pace? And, when all the answers to those questions are yes, the world is my oyster. When the answers are no, it can be downright depressing, but all the more encouragement to go out and try again.

As I struggled through the 90-degree, unforgiving afternoon today, I thought about how much of my life is about negotiations right now, some literal and some mental. In the literal sense, Amy (my co-intern) and I negotiated with our supervisor for some additional compensation yesterday, as we came to realize the staffing changes and workload in the office were going to differ from what we anticipated. It was nerve-wracking and challenging, but the conversation went great, and I am happy to be part of the minority of women, according to research, who ask for more when they think they deserve it. I am also mentally negotiating what I want for myself, my life, and my career. Student affairs has had its ups and downs for me over the past four years, and I am coming to a crossroads where, next year, I will be making important decisions to shape my path toward the next phase of my life. I don't know what that will look like yet, but I do know that I am not willing to negotiate my quality of life, happiness, or expectations just to "do" the next job in the march through this profession. I will be looking for a rounded package of things that will make me happy at work, and allow me opportunities for growth, challenge, and development, but also a place that won't require me to negotiate who I am as a person or professional. As I grow older, I have realized that these things are off the negotiating table for me; who I am, what I need in my career to be satisfied, and happiness in my life.

It's likely that the next year or so leading up to graduation is going to be like one long, hot summer run to the finish line, where I'll be mentally battling all of the questions that plague my overly analytical mind. But I plan to keep pushing to the next block and going as hard as I can because a) I know I can make it and b) I always feel better and happier when I do.

Run, Heck, Run!

2009-06-09T20:44:00.003-04:00

I am living across the street from the equivalent of Central Park in New Orleans.

At about 6:30 this evening, I put on my most breathable running clothes, a rockin' playlist of "ignore your pain and keep running"-type songs, and braved the 90-degree, 90 percent humidity weather for a jog. It didn't take long before I was drenched in sweat, breathing heavy, and trying not to fall over, but I kept going long enough to cross St. Charles Avenue and enter Audobon Park.

Suffice it to say, I was shocked and awed by what I saw. Despite the heat, the bugs, and the dinner hour, there were literally hundreds of runners, walkers, joggers, and bikers joining be for some early evening torture. Old people, young people, marathoners, new runners with ill-fitting choices in clothing, children with their parents and siblings, dog walkers, thin people, obese people, all races, all classes, you get the picture. But what was most jaw dropping about the whole experience was that despite the insane heat (or what I perceive to be insane), people were enjoying themselves! There were clearly families walking together, college friends, work groups, all sorts of combinations of people not hitting the pavement alone, but making it a date with others.

Terry and I talk a lot about how East Lansing seems to lack a fitness culture, or one of health and well-being, and wondering why that was the case. Why is it that places like New York, New Orleans, and elsewhere seem to foster this community of getting out and working up a sweat, whereas other places do not? Yes, I am sure there are overarching reasons related to wealth, appearance, status, and the value the media places on a stick thin body, but I can't help but think that there must be something much more deeply rooted within a community for fitness to garner a high level of time and attention.

Sidenote: I also thought of one of my best girlfriends while I was running. For everyone else reading, my amazing and wonderful friend is competing in her first 5K this month, and I am sad that I can't be at home to jog alongside her, encourage her, and hold a homemade sign along the race route as she hits this milestone. So while I want to get back in shape, I am also running as a sign of solidarity, challenge, and support- you can do it, Jules!

Disorienting Dilemma

2009-06-08T23:32:00.003-04:00

In the past week and a half, I have been in some wildly different places: South Africa, Michigan, Kentucky, Tennessee, Alabama and now, New Orleans, Louisiana. I am not counting the drive through Indiana and Mississippi because I don't feel as though I spent enough time out of the car to really form an opinion of those (though MS had some incredible town names, and few teeth). Time is racing, and I am bracing myself against its impact.

Terry and I arrived in the Big Easy on Saturday night around 9, the air thick with humidity and the campus largely deserted. Even in the dark, it was obvious how beautiful the campus is; soaring red brick buildings in the college gothic style of the early 19oos, large, grassy quads, and of course a tower with chiming bells. Loyola is situated in a splendid neighborhood in Uptown New Orleans on St. Charles Avenue, a classy boulevard lined with gorgeous mansions in French, Italian, and Spanish styles. Palm trees dot the roadside, and flowering shade trees arch over the sidewalks. A trolley runs directly down the middle of the street in front of Loyola, weaving its way to the heart of the city. Directly next door (and really all around us) is Tulane University, another prestigious institution with white stone buildings and a historic feel. It's like being in a college town, in a Victorian novel, in a microwave oven.

Yesterday, Terry, Meg (my former student worker from St. Mary's College of Maryland) and I ventured downtown to stroll the infamous Bourbon Street, and I must say, it is like no place I have ever been. We hit the pavement around 3:30 on a Sunday, and every other bar and corner had live music of all genres, but primarily the blues, drunk people stumbling in the streets, strip clubs everywhere you look, and a general spring break-type feel. This description could probably apply to many other cities on a weekend night, but here, it fits New Orleans daily. It wasn't long before we picked up our first 2-1 Mango Daquiris (which you can get to-go. Almost any alcoholic beverage you can imagine can be taken to-go, including frozen specialties, beers, and even hard liquor over ice) to cool down and drink up. We meandered our way to the French Quarter, with its stunning flower-strewn balconies and beautiful townhomes, stopping at The Market Cafe for yet another delicious drink (the Creole Splash, which our waiter happily told us had "4 whole shots in one drink!".. I shared with Terry) and my first taste of crawfish etouffee- glorious- all while watching a blues group perform. You could say that minus the sweating and the general smell of Bourbon Street, it was the perfect Sunday.

Today, I began my summer orientation internship at Loyola in the Co-Curricular Programs office. The office has undergone some major staffing changes this summer, including the loss of three out of four full-time employees. Right now, the orientation team consists of our director, a brand new assistant director, myself, and my co-intern Amy... and orientation leader (called Krewe Leader) training starts next Wednesday. As far as work goes, it looks like it is going to be a crazy summer!

Back in January, when I began applying for NODA internships and the South Africa trip, it made sense in my head that I would only have a few days between the two experiences. But it has been incredibly jarring to unpack, repack, drive cross country and start working as though my trip abroad was long ago. I am going to work hard this week to write my final reflections on the trip, as well as the accompanying 8-10 page paper for submission next Wednesday.

I am hoping this summer will be transformational (and no doubt the source of many more disorienting dilemmas) in a few ways that I thought I'd share in the form of some goals:

* See New Orleans. Really see it. From as many angles and perspectives as possible.

* Survive life on my own- When I moved to St. Mary's last year, I had my family 2 hours away. In Michigan, even when I didn't know anyone else, I had Terry and his friends to get me started. Here, I am starting out mostly on my own, in a totally different part of the country. It will be interesting to see how this experience differs from others I've had, and I hope to talk about that this summer.

* Be my own Biggest Loser Coach and Contestant: Terry and I obsessed over this show this past year, yet probably wasted countless hours watching TV because of it, rather than getting in shape. This summer, I don't have a TV, I will be sweating my butt off, and doing shopping just for me. I am going to keep a food and exercise diary and seek to lose about 10 pounds/gain muscle definition by being diligent about my health and fitness. Hold me to this! Ask me about it, comment on it when I am not bringing it up, in general, be my other consciences.

* Think: I want to think a lot about what I am doing in grad school, what I hope to do with my life, and specifically where I want to be when I graduate. No easy task.

Hope summer is going well for you all. Thanks for reading!

Hellogoodbye

2009-06-04T23:57:00.002-04:00

Greetings from Michigan! I made a safe return to the States on Sunday, and this week has been a whirlwind trying to prepare for my next big adventure... summer internship at Loyola University in New Orleans! I leave tomorrow morning for a two month stint in the Office of Co-Curricular Programs where I will be working with new student orientation at Loyola, and hopefully getting acquainted with the Big Easy. Tomorrow I'll be on the road to Nashville, then Saturday, we hope to make it into NOLA and get settled for some fun before work starts Monday.

Look for thoughts, pics, and other tidbits, as I plan to update regularly once I get settled down South. Happy Summer!

Day 15: The Day of 15 Rainbows and 40,000 penguins

2009-05-29T16:47:00.002-04:00

I cannot be sad about leaving South Africa tomorrow because today was perfect. Everything about the day could have been part of a novel about serendipitous international travel. We spent the morning shopping in the famous Green Market Square, constantly looking skyward with furrowed brows at the rain clouds drifting overhead. There was a 60 percent chance of rain in Cape Town... and we experienced nary a sprinkle (yes, I just used the word nary in context). We reunited with our whole group at the base of Table Mountain, and took off down the winding roads behind it along the Atlantic Ocean with the sun on our faces.

We drove along the coast through rolling hills of wine country, all the way to the tip of the world as I know it; Table Mountain National Park-Cape of Good Hope. There, we stood at the meeting point of the Indian and the Atlantic, with towering ocean waves breaking on the rocks of the southwestern-most point of the African continent. Dani, Jess, and I ate lunch on a patio overlooking Cape Point, then sat along the edge of a stone wall looking out onto the coastal mountains and the deep blue water of the ocean. It was absolutely tranquil- I felt a sense of peace that I haven't experienced in years.

Following our ends of the Earth experience, we drove back the way we came and stopped in Simon's Town, home of the largest African penguin colony on the continent. As the sun began to dip in the sky, we made our way along a boardwalk with penguins waddling alongside us on the other side of the fence. The brush opened up onto the beautiful white sands of Boulder Beach, where hundreds of penguins were huddled over nests in the sand of chirping, fluffy penguin chicks. We watched the penguins glide in on the waves, climb out of the water onto the beach, and shake out their feathers before waddling up to their nests. Adult penguins fed their babies, the colony honked and squawked in trumpeting harmony, and all was right with the world.

All along we have said this trip has been charmed... We have had uncanny luck with excursions, opportunities, animal sightings and the weather especially. Today of course was no exception, and over the course of a five hour period we saw 5 double rainbows and 5 additional single rainbows. We joked that each person on the trip got their own personal rainbow from the travel gods today!

We ate our last meal in Cape Town at a delicious Thai restaurant, capped off with a chocolate eclair at a posh chocolatier, and here I am, packing and preparing to board the plane home tomorrow. Thanks for reading and commenting on my adventures... See you in the USA!

Day 14: Shopper's Heaven... and Hell

2009-05-28T15:59:00.008-04:00

I have been traveling for two weeks as of today! It is crazy how time flies. I know that I have been talking about a lot of heavy issues in recent posts, and though you can expect that this too will feature some of the same issues (as they are inescapable in South Africa) I thought I would spend some time talking about how I've spent my money on this trip.

First, you must know that I am not a big shopper, or at least a big spender, especially since I started graduate school. In fact, over the course of this year, I really haven't purchased much for myself. I have bought an occasional item of clothing, and spent money on dinners or movies, but I rarely really shop in grad school. All of my repressed shopping desires have revealed themselves in South Africa. I love to look at housewares, and even more, I love buying gifts for people, so spending time in the markets of the towns we have visited has resulted in purchasing to the extreme for me. I literally will be coming home with a bag full of souvenir items... It has been like seeing myself from outside myself, like someone else is running her fingers over table linens, wooden figures, and delicate beaded jewelry then spending rand (South Africa's currency) in seemingly large amounts.

I began to worry about this today, as I realized I had not kept very good track of my spending. However, after doing the math, I realized that I have only spent about $500, and that includes purchasing two meals and snacks every day for two weeks, some excursion costs, and every gift item I have purchased. Before leaving we were encouraged to bring $300 with us for food, which I have surely spent and eaten wonderful things while here, but all of my gift-buying really has resulted in minimal expenditure given the unique and special attributes of what I will bring home. I tried to only purchase items that had a story or helped a person or group in need, so I am hoping that my shopping sprees weren't entirely selfish or frivolous!

We went to wine country today, which was spectacular. Winter is just beginning in South Africa, so it was like being transported back in time to autumn. Driving through the mountains, the tops of which were enveloped in grey and white clouds and misty rain, and along curvy country roads bordered by enormous expanses of yellow and orange-leaved vineyards, everything about today seemed to be tinged with magic. The leaves were falling, the temperatures hovered around 50 degrees, and all around the countryside, vineyard workers were burning piles of dried leaves. Though the sun didn't show itself today, I loved opening the car windows and smelling the fresh mountain air, feeling the mist on my skin, and generally delighting in the fact that I can say I experienced two fall seasons this year. Also, we sampled 5 wines at a sprawling Dutch colonial vineyard called Boschental, located just outside of Stellanbosch- a world-renowned wine region- for less than two dollars. I then purchased a chardonnay for less than 10. I did a bit more shopping this afternoon, then settled in to a comfy leather armchair on the patio of a Cuban, Che Guevara themed restaurant and sipped cappuchino under a toasty heat lamp while reading a book and listening to the rain tap the awning. It was just the relaxation and downtime I was hoping for, and helped me to feel refreshed. Plus, for the most part, South Africa doesn't "do" filtered coffee, so I have been drinking instant sludge mixed with water to get my fix. My two cappuchinos today really hit the spot.

You may now be wondering about the title of this post, and as the contrasts of South Africa have been central to my experience here, I must admit that shopping and enjoying the wares of the country's markets and shops has also been difficult for me. Though the poverty of the nation is sometimes camouflaged by fancy malls and upscale restaurants, one would be hard-pressed to navigate the streets and shops of Cape Town or Port Elizabeth unscathed by beggars and hustlers. I have never been skilled at the whole "just look straight ahead and keep walking" mentality, nor does my gut easily settle when I try to resolve my purchases of fun, but unnecessary items in the face of such extreme poverty. I still haven't figured this out yet, and it isn't a part of me that has just emerged in South Africa, but I know that I need to find a way to contribute to the resolution of poverty in some way because being among the poorest both here and at home causes a deep, visceral reaction in me that never dissolves.

I cannot believe that tomorrow is our last full day and night in South Africa. (side note: I am going to meet up with my freshman roommate from college tomorrow: she lives in Cape Town, we haven't seen each other in 5 years, and we will reunite in South Africa, that is how small the world is!) I have had so many incredible experiences here it has been exceedingly difficult to pick and choose what to share here and what to leave out. Suffice it to say that when I leave I will certainly become an advocate for travel to SA, and will whole-heartedly encourage other students in my program to partake in this experience, for I feel it has truly had an impact on the way I view my work, myself, and my world.

Day 13: Ashes

2009-05-27T15:21:00.002-04:00

My insides are churning like the cool, salty ocean I traveled today to visit one of the most profoundly intense historical sites in the world. Today, I crossed Table Bay and explored Robben Island. Explored probably is not the right word. I had a guide, and not just any guide. Eddie Daniels, a bright, cheerful, friendly 80-year-old Cape Town native met our group at the Robben Island museum and departure site this morning before we took the ferry to the island. In case the name is not familiar, Eddie was one of the 30 political prisoners on the Island with Nelson Mandela. To be exact, he was prisoner #864 to come to the Island, arriving in 1964 to serve a 15-year sentence for sabotage. This incredible man spent the full 15 years on the Island, lived to tell about it, and agreed to take our small group on a personal tour through what was undoubtedly his personal hell during those years.

Eddie said many times that he didn't think he would live to make it off the Island. Robben was one of the most brutal prisons, teeming with sadistic wardens, horrid conditions, and back-breaking manual labor. Eddie had joined the Liberal Party of South Africa ("it was the only party that wasn't defined by skin color and opposed the government" note: Eddie is what we would call white, but he identifies as black.), protesting and marching against apartheid, as well as committing the acts of sabotage that eventually led to his arrest and sentencing. As we walked the prison yard and corridors where he spent some of the most painful and dreadful of his 80 years, Eddie spoke of how he slept every night on the cement floor with no mattress, couldn't ever see the stars, and was kept on the back side of the prison so that he could not view Table Mountain and Cape Town. Only once during that time was he able to catch a glimpse of the mountain during his 15 years on the Island, and he described it as one of the most empowering and emotional moments of his imprisonment.

On the Island, prisoners were only permitted to go to the hospital once. After that, if they fell ill, they were left to suffer. Eddie became quite ill during his term, and lay on the floor of his cell for days suffering. Mandela came to his cell, placed a bucket next to it, sat on it, and comforted Eddie while he was ill. Mandela carried Eddie's own bucket of excrement (that's all they had in the cells) to the yard, where he emptied and cleaned it for him. Eddie was not a member of Mandela's party. In fact, Eddie described himself as a nobody in those times, compared to the well-known political prisoners in his ward; just a guy who stood against apartheid in the only way he knew how. Eddie said that this story characterized Mandela perfectly- a man who constantly gives of himself entirely, without regard for class, status, color, or creed.

Eddie seemed to take a liking to me. We talked quite a bit, and I sat next to him on the tour bus, as well as on the boat ride home. He told me about his childhood hikes and camping trips on Table Mountain and his travels to Antarctica on whale hunts, how he met and fell in love with his wife, and how when he was released, he saw his son for the first time in 15 years and didn't recognize him. When he left for Robben Island, his son was only a year old, and when Eddie returned, his baby was a young man. I can't even imagine what that must have been like.

To watch this man traverse the corridors of the prison, to stand in front of the cell that held him captive for nearly two decades, and feel his sheer joy for life and his part in the struggle was intoxicating. His words, his gestures, his broad smile and little jokes filled me with emotion; how could it be that he wasn't vengeful or angry? He would tell his stories, and pause to think, to laugh, or to check and make sure that we were all comfortable, to ask if we had questions... and each time I stepped out of the van and into a new part of his history, he would offer me his hand like a true gentleman to assist me down the step. What I enjoyed most though, was just watching him when he wasn't speaking. The look on his face as we sat beside one another was positively peaceful, and when he wasn't talking, Eddie whistled; no real tune, but what seemed to be just an absent-minded habit to fill the void of silence. I'll always remember it- this man who was tortured and lost 15 years of his life imprisoned by a corrupt and vicious government system, just whistling, smiling, and sharing parts of himself with us.

Eddie also commented on how South Africa could not have reached the end of apartheid without help from the outside. He talked specifically about Michigan State, and how supportive our institution had been, and the meaningful connections that have been forged between his beloved country and ours, partially because of students like us. A self-proclaimed "nobody," Eddie bathed us in his praises for all of the wonderful things he was sure we would do in our lives and careers, and how the world needed people like us to help lead the march into a better future for all people. I have never been more proud to be a Spartan.

There is so much more to say about this experience, what Eddie shared, and how much it meant to me, but to try summarizing it would do Eddie and the day an injustice. As we drifted back across the Atlantic toward Cape Town, Eddie told me that when he dies, he plans to have his ashes scattered between Table Mountain and Robben Island- the two places where he has the most happy memories. I will never forget him. Eddie's ability to forgive and move forward to live an amazingly full and happy life is so inspiring, I know I will carry that feeling with me in my heart wherever life takes me.

Crossing the (color) Line

2009-05-25T12:40:00.003-04:00

Prior to preparing for and coming to South Africa, I wasn't a South African history whiz, and have spent a lot of time trying to piece together the complex web of what it means to live and work here in the post-Apartheid era. Because I don't want to assume that everyone who reads my blog is familiar with the political ins and outs of South African history, I want to give you a brief attempt at a summary for context's sake (and please, this is not a perfect piece of historical writing, feel free to correct any of my mistakes!):

In the late 1700s, the Dutch East India Company came to South Africa and immediately began warring with native South Africans- Zulu and Xhosa tribes specifically- for land and resources. This war lasted for decades, and whites established settlements near Cape Town and beyond. This group of Dutch immigrants who settled in South Africa became known as Afrikaners, and came to power in the late 1800s, forcing most black South Africans into servitude and persecution. This segregation and abuse became systematically and legally enforced through the creation of Apartheid, the legal separation of blacks and whites, assuring that blacks would always be a class lower than Afrikaners. The violent, oppressive Apartheid regime, against which Nelson Mandela fought and was imprisoned for 30 years because of, only fell in 1994, leaving South Africa to piece back together a country that was divided along color lines for centuries. Apartheid had displaced hundreds of thousands of blacks, relocating them to shantytowns known as townships, and severely disadvantaged them in terms of health and well being, employment, education, and so on. Though great progress has been made in the country, much is left to do.

NMMU, the university in which I've been working for the past week, is the product of a three-university merger in 2005. Each university was formerly segregated by Apartheid, and in NMMU's short history, they have made tremendous progress in breaking down walls between racial groups, and begun the seemingly insurmountable task of fully integrating these institutions into a single entity (imagine taking MSU, U of M and K College and being forced to put them all together, retaining the staff and student bodies of each. yikes).

Today we met with an institutional research director, who has been tasked with examining residence hall life. NMMU has 24,000 students, only 2,500 of whom live on campus. The residences used to be all-white, as they were part of the all-white institution during Apartheid. Post-Apartheid, said residences are now entirely black; there is not a single white residential student. Imagine this at an American institution- a campus with a monoracial residential component. The researcher we met wanted feedback and ideas about how to attract white students to campus residency. She said that often, white students do put deposits down to live on campus, then arrive for orientation and see that they are a tiny minority (and perhaps one that is not desired by the majority), and leave immediately for off-campus living options. I am entirely baffled by the complexity of this situation. How can NMMU become a fully engaged and integrated institution with these types of challenges? The resilience and effort of their faculty and staff to overcome these issues is admirable, and I know I will continue to think about this long after I leave here.

When Apartheid fell, racism, both overt and covert, in South Africa did not. And parallels certainly exist between Americans and South Africans. I am reminded of the commentary during and after the election of President Obama, that we were entering a post-racial society era, as if an bi-racial president means all of the inequalities and injustices racial in nature could suddenly be erased. I hope to continue to engage in dialogue around racial issues like this when I return, and in my academic research.

Day 9: Roller Coaster Ride

2009-05-24T13:34:00.002-04:00

South Africa is a study in contrasts. Within an hour, one may travel through the glittering, glamorous beachfront of Summerstrand (where we are staying), and into the rolling, impoverished townships of Port Elizabeth, and onto the wild wilderness of the African bush.

The most challenging and disorienting part of this trip has been the constant juxtaposition of power and privilege, wealth and poverty, black and white, educated and illiterate, incredible beauty and unfathomable despair. Every day we have traversed the boundaries of these opposing forces, often many times within the same 24 hours; we have a wonderful night's rest in a cozy B & B accompanied by a delicious homemade breakfast, then tour the poorest township in the region where people are living on 20 rand (a little less than $2) or less a day; we drive along the breathtaking and populous beachfront, dotted with hotels and fancy restaurants, and spend an afternoon in the far corner of the area in the absolutely dead silent bush country, observing elephants, rhino, and lions in their natural habitat; we wear suits and give talks to faculty and staff in a consulting fashion at the university, then toured the residence halls with students who talked about the enormity of the HIV/AIDS epidemic on campus.

These travels through South Africa have been a physical, mental and emotional roller coaster ride. I struggle in considering how I will take what I have seen and done here and incorporate it into my life back in the U.S., and in what ways being exposed to such horrendous poverty will change me. I question my own privilege and what I should be doing to make the world a better place for others. I wonder what it all means. But above all else, I am leaving this trip with a profound sense of connectivity to South Africa and its people. Even in the poorest of townships, I met and talked to people who were so happy to see Americans visiting their country, and proud of all the wonderful things visitors experience here. Those we've spent time with at NMMU have shown gratitude and appreciation for our work with them over the past week. And really, any and everyone we have interacted with in South Africa has been more polite and welcoming than I ever could have anticipated.

Perhaps the most vivid example of this occurred during our township tour last Sunday. In one of the five townships we visited, we walked in to visit a small craft shop staffed by residents of the area. As I looked at the modest selection of beautiful handmade crafts, I noticed a short, middled aged African woman standing shyly beside a table of jewelry. I came closer to the table and said hello, to which she responded with a polite hello back to me. When she looked up, I realized that her dark skin was marred by severe burn scars on one side. I can't imagine how she could have gotten such burns, and was quite taken aback. But, as I chose a bracelet for my sister and handed her the money for it, the woman's face lit up with a smile brighter than any I've seen on the trip. A study in contrasts. The burns of the past, a proud smile in the present. It was all I could do to not weep.

For those of you who know me well, I am what you could call a "bleeding heart;" it takes very little to bring emotion to surface level with me, and only slightly more before it starts to leak out of in my expressions and eyes. I have wanted to cry many times during this trip, particularly in the face of these contrasts. But I have struggled with whether it is appropriate to do so. I imagine all the rich, western visitors to this region of the world who probably do so, then return to their cushy 5-star hotels for a cocktail and steak dinner. I am trying hard to not be one of those people, but instead by restraining some of this emotion, hopefully building it into a lasting resolve that will continue to burn in me far beyond this short experience. I hope this resolve, and the resilience I've seen in the South African people will manifest itself in my work and effort to make a difference in the world. And while I may not impact South Africa directly when I go home, I hope to use this experience to work even harder to make life better for those in need, in the college context or otherwise.

Day 8: Heck List South Africa Part 1

2009-05-24T08:56:00.002-04:00

Top 10 Animals within 1o feet of me in South Africa:

10. Porcupine

9. Blue Wildebeast

8. Springbok

7. Blue Crane

6. 2 Crocodiles

5. 2 Hippos, submerged but for the eyes, nose, and ears

4. Zebra, the most beautiful animals so far

3. A Kaleidoscope of Giraffe (that's what the herd is called), including a 1-month old baby giraffe whose spots had not yet developed

2. Entire lion family at night in pitch darkness

1. A rhino couple named Bonnie and Clyde

TIE

1. Elephants- families, individuals, babies, all of them.

Top 10 Foods Eaten in South Africa

10. Moussaka

9. Scones with clotted cream

8. Mashed potatoes and gravy

7. Ostrich fillet

6. Springbok stroganoff

5. Grilled calamari tubes

4. Sauteed Hake (whitefish)

3. Minced ostrich on crusty french bread

2. Bev's grilled, then baked fresh tomatoes and breakfast

1. Traditional milk tart

Day 5: Lions, and Tigers, and Audis. Oh My!

2009-05-20T15:48:00.003-04:00

Hello from Port Elizabeth, South Africa! I have been staring at the blank posting screen for about 30 minutes now, trying to think of how to even begin describing all that I have been through, seen, and done since arriving on this amazing continent and in this complex, diverse, and beautiful country. I can say without a hint of exaggeration that the past five days have been the most intense and crazy and amazing I've experienced in a long while, partly because of the sheer wild variety of things I have been doing. In South Africa, I am trying to balance being a tourist in a foreign land with being a professional in a totally different higher education context.

By day, we are at Nelson Mandela Metro University working with and among South African higher education professionals, giving workshops, having conversations, and interacting with faculty and staff across the institution around issues that I are both familiar and utterly unfamiliar to me in my work with students. For example, today I gave a presentation with my colleague, Katie, on the first-year experience and transition, and we asked our audience to brainstorm a list of the challenges students are facing in their first year. Two examples were given during our discussion by their staff: first, female students prostituting themselves in order to be able to pay for transport to and from school, and second, discovering that more than half of students at NMMU only have enough money to pay for food to eat for half of the days in a year, meaning many go days with nothing, while trying to go to class and still be college students. The discussion we had was vibrant, challenging, and interesting, and I hope we were able to help our South African colleagues conceptualize the first-year experience in some new ways that will assist them as their program grows.

By night, we have been spending our time eating amazing meals for less than $20 every night (filet mignon, wine, the whole shabang- I have also tried ostrich and springbok since I have been here), walking along the sandy beaches of the Indian ocean, and spotting all sorts of wildlife, which leads me to the next item up for discussion... the subject line of this post. First, it is important to note that in the last three days I have seen monkeys, mongoose (mongooses? mongeese?), springbok (South African deer/antelope type creature), and a variety of birds. But today, we went to a big game preserve, and I was within inches of herds of giraffe, zebra and springbok, many of which came near to us in our car as we drove through the park. But there was also a portion of the preserve where we were able to drive into an enclosure to "be amongst the lions," which we were all super excited about. I was riding in a toyota mini-bus, and the other half of our group was in an Audi Quattro as we entered the enclosure and the gate swung shut behind us. We could see three lionesses lying in the grass ahead, and drove slowly up to them. At first, they seemed perfectly content with us gawking out our vehicle windows and taking zillions of non-flash photographs of them. Cute, even. In fact, at one point it looked as though they were cuddling with each other and purring. But, one got up and began to pace back and forth next to our cars. Then, no lie, she looked my classmate Jess in the eye through the back window of the Audi, and began to snarl. The lady lion then proceeded to chase our cars out of the enclosure, leaping up and putting its front paws onto the trunk of the car before we made our getaway. It was exhilarating and terrifying, and incredible, indescribable in a way that can do the experience justice really. It was like being in a National Geographic special.

This only continued when we arrived at the restaurant and sanctuary at the very top of the preserve, which had spectacular views of the whole park and the Indian Ocean. The man who waited on us at the register heard our lioness story, and laughed. Yes, he laughed at us. He then told us, "oh yes, she was just playing with you. She's been known to tear off bumpers and hubcaps too." Gulp. He took my 50 rand (the currency here), which is a little less than 7 US dollars, and gave be a ticket to play with baby lion cubs. These "babies," however turned out to be 5 1/2 month old male lions, more like lion adolescents, who yes, were very playful, but also had paws bigger than my hands, and teeth that surely could have done some damage. Nonetheless, I went into the cage and spent about 20 minutes petting, playing with, and photographing the three cubs- Dutch, Marli, and Abello- and marveling at how incredibly lucky I am.

There are many more details of my Africa adventure that I hope to share with you while on this trip, but I am going to stick to these two tails (get it, lion tails? hahaha) for now, in hopes of keeping you reading over the course of the trip. Tomorrow promises to be much more low-key than today, but it's South Africa, so who knows?

Day 1: Preparing for 18 hours of flight time

2009-05-14T12:25:00.003-04:00

Well, today is the day. In an hour, I depart for the Detroit airport to board the first of three flights that will carry me 10,000 miles from home to South Africa, a place so beyond my comprehension that I can barely believe I am going. I have read, talked to people, caught up with local news, packed and repacked what I think I will need, and yet this day is so surreal. I am getting on a plane and going to Africa today.
Back in January, when I attended the first interest meeting for the South Africa collaborative professional experience, me going on this trip seemed like a total impossibility. The cost, the weight of professional responsibility, the accountability to and representation of my respected faculty members, the distance, all of these things blurred together as I considered the opportunity. I decided to apply, and vowed to take out the student loans needed to do it- and here I am.
As an undergrad, I had no idea what study abroad even was, nor that it was something accessible to me. The semester before junior year came quickly, and I watched as one after another friend chose exotic destinations- Australia, Italy, Spain, Chile, Belize, England- and headed off for six months' worth of adventure. I remained dutifully in Richmond, shackled to my absurd number of extracurriculars, reading emails and looking at pictures of my friends' experiences around the world.
Choosing Michigan State had a lot to do with what I saw its faculty and students doing with their summers- even though our program is only two years long, many students chose to study in other countries and states, in all types of different settings, and that yearning I felt as an undergrad to travel the world rose up again. I remember watching a slide show of photographs from last year's trip to South Africa. Classmates and faculty walking through the Robben Island prison, where Nelson Mandela was held for 30 years; holding lion cubs; standing at the base of Table Mountain; gazing off the Cape of Good Hope into the distance. I knew I had to go.
I like to think that my world traveler friends will be proud of me for this- I'm stepping out of my comfort zone (about as far out as I can imagine) and doing something I never imagined I would do as a grad student or otherwise. I am going to another continent, working in another educational context, seeing the world in a new way. I am nervous, anxious, excited, and overwhelmed. I am going to Africa today, and I feel so lucky. I hope you'll read more about it when I get there!

Friday Heck List

2009-04-24T10:58:00.004-04:00

10 Small Things People Do That I Don't Understand

1. Listen to Rush Limbaugh

2. Eat Cheetos

3. Change lanes without checking the blind spot(s)

4. Follow Demi Moore on Twitter

5. Throw recyclable items into the trash when there is a recycle bin directly next to the trash can

6. Get a big mac, but order a diet coke with it

7. Wear uncomfortable shoes

8 . Buy expensive water

9. Complain about there being nothing to watch on TV, while continuing to watch TV

10. Litter

List inspiration: My drive to MSU this morning and subsequent walk through campus, noticing the obscene amount of litter along the roadsides, on the Red Cedar River's banks, and pretty much everywhere else. Maybe you don't care about recycling, but could you use a trash can? Thanks.

Lost and Found

2009-04-14T16:32:00.006-04:00

In college, students ask a lot of big questions: What does this all mean? What is my purpose? What is most important to me? Who am I? Is there more to life than what's in front of me? We ask ourselves these questions throughout our lives, but many psychologists have pointed to the age of traditional college students (18-24) as the time in the lifespan where our thoughts and feelings about the big questions get more complex. When we're children, much of life is black and white. There are clear-cut rights and wrongs. There are good things and bad things in the world. The answers are either yes or no. These ways of knowing are referred to as dualistic, or dichotomous.

But when we hit that young adult stage, it's as though someone has showed us the puppet strings, or given us a pair of glasses that split the black and white into a full spectrum of color. Suddenly, getting a right or wrong, a yes or no about anything in life is difficult, which can be very frustrating for students and those of us who work with them.

What do we do when there is more than one right answer? This past week, Dr. Carney Strange, professor at Bowling Green State University, came to speak at the MSU Raines Colloquium in our department. Dr. Strange has spent much of his life thinking, researching, and writing about the ways students answer the big questions in college, and how they come to incorporate (or not) spirituality into their existence.

I was fortunate to have the opportunity to be part of a small group of students who had lunch with Dr. Strange before his talk. In our group conversation, we talked about the disorienting dilemma of college attendance, and how many of us felt firmly rooted in our respective faiths before we started college, only to find out that unquestioned belief could suddenly, jarringly be open to interpretation- and that this meant we had the freedom to begin the process of self-authorship, the writing of our own stories and lives.

Dr. Strange asked many more questions than he answered in our spiritual discussion, and later in his talk. But, I think that was the point. Figuring out who we are, what we are meant to do, and where we are going involves asking a lot of questions, and doesn't always result in a single, right answer. At one point, Dr. Strange asked our small group at lunch why we thought the college experience results in so many students' abandonment of previous religious or spiritual belief. It's scary to come to terms with the fact that your way, your beliefs, your faith is not the only way, nor the right way under the scrutiny of others. In college I felt as though I lost my beliefs and sense of spirituality. But, what I have realized in the past year or so is that spirituality is not something you can lose. Spirituality is an integral part of me, it IS me, I never lost it, I just was not focused on or exploring that part of me in college.

I think this is the case with multiple parts of our identities. We may not always be focused on our race, gender, education level, socioeconomic status, or beliefs, but that doesn't make them any less a part of who we are. I have come to realize in the last year that my spiritual self is a very important part of who I am, and that has little to do with religion, as I always thought was essential in college. I know I need time to stand still, quiet my mind, and feel at peace. I know that giving to and helping others is the most important thing I can do in life, and it is the way I hope to leave a mark on the world. I think that we are all connected in some what, and know that I am most happy and content when I've made the road a little easier for someone else. And if those things aren't spiritual, I don't know what is.

An Afternoon of Art

2009-03-27T16:47:00.007-04:00

I am back in Baltimore, and loving it! After a great night's sleep, I spent the morning doing homework, then ate lunch with Shaun and his Johns Hopkins co-workers. Since he had to return to work, I decided to enjoy the 66-degree day and walk around campus. Hopkins is an incredibly beautiful campus, and backs right up to the Baltimore Museum of Art.

I am ashamed to say that prior to today, I had never been to the BMA, but spent a delicious two and a half hours there, meandering alone through the corridors of modern and contemporary works by the likes of Matisse, Picasso, Van Gogh, Monet, Warhol, Pollack (click on the artists to see some of the works I saw), and many more. For six bucks, I got a student ticket and an audio tour guide that, through the voices of curators, Baltimore authors, poets, and storytellers, brought to life many of the pieces I observed.

I grew up in art museums. My aunt and uncle lived in Arlington, Virginia when I was young, and every visit meant a trip to DC to wander the halls of the National Gallery. I remember then that my favorite artist was Auguste Renoir, and I emulated his Girl With a Hoop painting (which hung on the wall of my childhood room) every Easter with pastels and big hats. While strolling through the BMA I felt like a 10-year-old again, marveling at the works of some of the most revered figures in the art world.

The BMA boasts a large collection of Matisse paintings, thanks to the Cone sisters of Baltimore, who were avid supporters and collectors of his work. My favorite Matisse is the Woman in the Yellow Dress, seen to the right. Matisse's work was never really appealed to me before, but I really liked the Cone collection, which featured a lot of his floral stills, and posed women- I am enamored with his use of bright colors. I also spent a lot of time marveling at Picasso's Mother and Child (left), which evoked Italian paintings of the Madonna and Christ child that I saw in Italy. I find the colors soothing and pleasing to the eye. I had also never seen Andy Warhol originals, so it was great to get a chance to marvel at his rendition of The Last Supper, the BMA's largest piece, measuring 6 feet high and 25 feet long, which Warhol completed just a brief time before he died.

There was a piece that I had to return to several times because I found it very powerful and intricate, but also painful to observe. In 1939, Billie Holiday wrote and performed a song called Strange Fruit, which you can listen to here. The fruit referred to was the bodies of lynched African Americans hanging from trees in the South. The BMA piece by the same name features a female figure in bronze, hanging upside down from the ceiling of the gallery against stark white walls. I had to stand very close, but the figure swayed ever so slightly in the air of the room, its face modeled to mimic some of Holiday's features, including parted red lips, in recognition of the song that inspired the piece. It was haunting, particularly as I have been reading so much about racism both for class and on my own this semester.

Though I didn't plan it, I am so happy that I went. If you are in town, either living like I did having never visited, or just passing through, the BMA is definitely worth a few hours of your time and reflection.

Ohmmm

2009-03-23T11:39:00.005-04:00

My life is loud. I work in a very busy, talking-intensive environment, I go to classes that are abuzz with discussion, I coach (read: yell a lot) middle school lacrosse, and I myself talk all the time, as you may know. Last semester, I felt as though I didn't have any reprieve from the "noise" of every day life. Part of that was connected to what I was doing with my spare time: going to loud movies, hanging out at noisy bars, AND getting yelled at in tough spinning and aerobics classes at my gym. But, all that changed this semester when I rediscovered yoga, which I can honestly say has changed by approach to life this semester for the better.

Early this year, I stopped going to crazy, crowded cardio classes and began finding yoga and pilates offerings that fit my busy schedule. Since then, I have been squeezing 2-4 sessions of these classes in every week. Here's the Heck list of top 10 reasons why:

1. Peace and Quiet. I go into the yoga studio at the gym, a sound strip is placed against the door jamb, and soothing music plays. The lights are dim, my eyes are closed, the instructor's voice is soothing. It is as if nothing else in the world exists except my body and the sound of my own breathing.

2. No competition. I am in graduate school, so my life is competitive by nature. I compete in class and at work, whether intentionally or unintentionally. In yoga, I am so focused on myself, that the rest of the class kind of melts away... speaking of which...

3. I get to FOCUS on ME. This rarely happens in my day to day life. I am always counseling students, working on group projects, contributing to a larger whole, and in general trying to save the world. Yoga, for that 60-75 minutes, is all about me. No other part of my day is like that.

4. The stretch factor. 80-90 percent of my day is spent sitting at a desk. Yoga twists me into a day's worth of crazy positions that melt the stress points in my back, shoulders, hamstrings, and neck that build up after a long day of class, work, and doing more work for class.

5. Posture for days! I can honestly say that I have the best posture of anyone I know. I sit up straight at work, in class, while driving, everywhere. You would be envious of my posture, I bet. I thank yoga for that.

6. Visible results. Those who know me know that I work out regularly, and have done a lot of athletic things. I trained for and ran a marathon last year, have played and coached team sports, and consider myself somewhat of a gym rat. But, I have never seen results like those bestowed upon me by the yoga/pilates gods. My stomach is flat, my legs are tight, and I have lost some inches as well. Which leads me to...

7. Feelin' hot hot hot: I don't often say this, but yoga makes me feel hot. After a long class, I feel limber, slimmer, I walk taller, and I feel more confident. Money can't buy this!

8. Rationality? Terry recently said to me, "You are so rational. Girlfriends aren't like this!" (T. Brock, personal communication, March 2009). I know yoga isn't totally responsible for this, but it is at least partially responsible. All that deep breathing, slowing down the pace of life, walking out with a clear head stuff has made me more focused, rational, and positive in other areas of my life.

9.Balance. You should see my tree pose. I can literally stand on one foot for like, 10 minutes, and not fall over. My core is so much stronger, I am less clumsy and more poised in every day life. and finally...

10. Yoga is hard as (insert expletive here)! I know some of you are thinking, yoga is a big waste of time, you are not really working, it's all stretching blady blah blah... If this is you, you either a) have yet to have a really good instructor b) haven't devoted enough time to learning the basic poses so that you can really put effort into them or c) need to talk to me. The results I've seen and felt speak for themselves. I'll convert, you I promise.

Ohmmm. Have a great week!

This I believe

2009-03-19T10:02:00.004-04:00

I know that Stuffwhitepeoplelike.com says I'm cliche for liking NPR, but I can't help it and I'm not ashamed! This semester, I have been downloading podcasts from NPR to listen to on my 15 minute walk to and from work each day. As nerdy as it sounds, it helps to jumpstart my brain and I always end up learning something. Or, awkwardly crying on the MSU sidewalks, as those of you who have listened to Story Corps or This I Believe totally understand.

Next week, I will be leaving Michigan yet again for the Annual ACPA Convention at National Harbor in my home state. In preparation for that, my old boss, Laura, asked if I would consider writing a statement of my beliefs about my work and life in student affairs. I was a little nervous at first, but decided to give it a go, and write my own, This I Believe. Since I will be sharing it publicly at the conference, I figured I'd share it with the blogosphere as a warm up. Here it is:

I believe in the power of one. One moment, one gesture, one kind word, one person can change a life. For me, Dr. Scott Johnson, my college academic advisor and professor at the University of Richmond, was “the one.” After four years drifting through my majors, involving myself in countless activities, and questioning everything, in April 2005 Dr. J asked me one question that profoundly changed the course of my life: “Ashleigh, what sets you on fire?”

Dr. J liked analogies. He wanted to know what it was about my college experience that motivated me to get out of bed every morning, to work so hard, to invest so much of myself into the campus community. And though many others had asked me about my college experience, no one had ever asked where I found my purpose, what “set me on fire.” At that moment, a light bulb clicked on in my head. In class, Dr. J referred to such occurrences as Ah Ha! moments- the instant in which everything falls into place. I answered him; “orientation.”

My involvement in my college orientation program was the beating heart of my undergraduate experience, and in that one moment, in response to Dr. J’s one, simple question, I finally recognized it as such. That day, I began searching for my first job in higher education.

There are very few career paths and choices that result in so many opportunities to both embody and experience the power of one than our work in education and student affairs. Our roles provide us daily opportunities to help, heal, teach, and empower. To liberate, counsel, encourage, and empathize. To, in some way, be the one that can make the journey through the maze-like college experience a little more navigable for our students.

To work in student affairs is to know what it feels like to celebrate with a student who has surpassed a major milestone in life, and hold the hand of a student whose world is crumbling; to give a student the extra push needed to take a big, but worthy risk, and pull a student back when the safety net relied upon is faulty; to be the advisor, confidante, administrator, and educator of students, sometimes all at once.

My life in student affairs has been a study in these contrasts thus far, but also incredibly rewarding. And in remarkable ways, my work with and for students brings the power of one right back to me. I have learned more from my students about life than I could have imagined when I made the decision to enter student affairs, for which I am incredibly grateful.

One moment, one gesture, one kind word, one person can change everything.

Every day, my work with students affirms my path and motivates me to continue learning, developing, and becoming a better person. Every day I hope in some way, I help students do the same; to affirm their paths, to motivate them to continue learning, developing and working toward better selves and a better world. I believe this is my calling. I believe in the power of one.

For once, I don't have the words.

2009-03-19T09:47:00.005-04:00

For those who are wondering why I did not continue my spring break entries, I have a defense. There is no conceivable way to describe the Grand Canyon or Sedona, Arizona in words. Instead, I will show you some of my best shots of the trip: In order, here's what you'll see: 1. Mom and I standing on the edge of Oak Creek Canyon 2. A beautiful sunset over Camelback Mountain in Scottsdale, AZ 3. THE Canyon itself 4. 1 of hundreds of pictures of the red rocks of Sedona, and 5. My mom, sister, and I, halfway up Camelback Mountain, approximately 2000 feet up! Enjoy!

Spring Break 2K9!

2009-03-09T00:54:00.002-04:00

Spring break, wooo! I have arrived in Glendale, Arizona and spent my first full day in the Southwest today. My aunt and uncle moved here about 3 years ago, and this is the first time I have been able to visit. My mom, sister, and I will be here for the whole week, and let me tell you, being away from grad school is perhaps the most fabulous thing ever! (though I'm never really away, and have a book bag full of homework to consider)

Temperatures have held steady at 70 degrees since my arrival yesterday and there is no humidity. It's truly a delightful change from last week's -16 degree wind chill in Michigan.

When I arrived at the Phoenix airport yesterday, I witnessed two military couples reuniting, complete with tears, small children, and the pick-up-and-spin move. It was so wonderful to see, an uplifting moment and great first experience of the trip!

We spent most of yesterday lounging by the pool, eating fresh citrus fruit off the trees in the backyard, and smelling the sweet lavender and honeysuckle blooming around us. Heaven. Today we traveled to Old Town Scottsdale and did some window shopping, and topped it off with a great Italian meal at a very authentic little place called Veneto. But, the highlight of the day was definitely the scenery. From most parts of Scottsdale, you can see Camelback Mountain (the one in the pic) looming in the background. We will be hiking to the top (hopefully) on Thursday!!!

On deck for the week: tomorrow, lounging; Tuesday: Cubs vs Mariners spring training game Wednesday: Sedona and Grand Canyon (!!!!) Thursday: Camelback Climb... Stay tuned!

Being the metaphorical "Duck"

2009-03-05T11:54:00.003-05:00

A very wise student of mine once told me, "Ashleigh, you've gotta be the duck." Perplexed, I remember asking her what she meant by "be the duck." "Well," she said, "think about ducks on the lake. We see them floating across the surface of the water. They look calm, at ease, not a care in the world. But under the surface, those little legs are kicking like crazy. The duck has purpose, the duck 'floats' but is totally in control. That's gotta be us. We need to be the duck."

Hmmm. Be the duck. Okay. To give you some context, this student was an Orientation Leader, and we were preparing to welcome the new freshman class at St. Mary's College of Maryland, a small liberal arts place with both a lake and river, and many ducks for us to observe and philosophize about. Her wise words about finding one's inner duck jived well with what I was trying to instill in the student leaders- be excited and show that excitement, but keep a cool, level head, know what you are talking about, and have some direction in your work with new students.

I have been thinking for a long time about creating a blog. And part of the reason it has taken me so long is because I was unable to think of a witty title. In my brainstorming, I recalled this duck story, and find it to be totally applicable to what I am going through right now. I am struggling to remain calm, cool, and collected as I cruise through the often perilous waters of graduate school and mid-twenties life, but under the surface, I have so many ideas, so much to say, and no personal, satisfying outlet to express those ideas.

This blog represents by attempt to follow my student's advice. It will be my outlet for ideas, for talking about issues or events that threaten to break my calm exterior. To show you what's going on under the surface. I hope you enjoy, and that maybe entering a dialogue with me as I post here will allow you a chance to embrace your inner duck as well.